


The Magic of the North

by englishrose (Authorqueen)



Series: The Silver Compass Series [1]
Category: Brave (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012), Tangled (2010), Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Dragons, Gods and Immortals, High Fantasy, M/M, Slavery, Soul Bond, Torture, True Love, mentions of underage rape, original languages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 101,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authorqueen/pseuds/englishrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I will… come back.” He promised, the words shaky, but not in meaning. “I want to- to see you…again.”</p><p>Six years ago, Prince Jack's twelfth birthday took a turn for the unexpected when a slaver appeared to sell his wares during the celebrations. No one knew it then, but that night everything changed for Jack. And it may have been something to do with the boy with green eyes...</p><p>Six years later, a new and terrible threat rises from the depths of the Greater Isles, and Jack's home, Caruselle, is defenceless. In desperation, Jack flees to the only place he can think of that may help in his time of need: The North, where waits a somewhat familiar face...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amidst the Colours of Caruselle

 

**_ Prologue _ **

_I_ t was a scene of which few had dared to hope for, for a very long time. The Queen watched with a smile on her face, her heart swelling at the sight before her.  
  
They seemed almost childlike, despite the hardships they had faced together. Neither seemed very ‘royal’ at the moment, both of them up to their knees in water, laughing as they splashed each other. Goodness knows how they had ended up wading around the pond of the Summer Palace garden, but neither of them seemed to care, and nor did the Queen.  
  
She watched her son and his lover as they charged about the water, laughing and teasing. The battle seemed so far away now, despite the changes it had wrought on the two men before her.  
Princes both, one of the Southern, summer realms, the other from the Northern, winter vales. Looking upon them now, one would not be sure which was which.  
Neither seemed to care much, too absorbed in their own world of sunlight and warmth and pre-marital bliss.

Who would have thought it would end like this, that fateful night many years ago? Certainly one did. But then, she rarely speaks anyway.

 

 

_Chapter I_

**_ Amidst the Colours of Caruselle _ **

**__ **

  
“Mother! Mother! Did you see that? Did you?!”

“See what, dear?”

The young Prince leaned towards her in his chair conspiratorially and whispered “The Grand Duke just picked his nose… _and wiped it on Lady Gothel!”_

The Queen rolled her eyes in good nature. “Are you sure, Jack? You didn’t make that up?”

The Prince gave her a mollified look. “No I did not!” he burst, his face a little red.

“You did not what?” Asked the King, glancing towards his son with a raised brow. The Queen chuckled, leaning in her throne and pushing her blonde hair behind her shoulder to say “Our son is making up terrible stories about the guests. It seems he’s bored with his birthday party already. Should we send him to bed, dear?”

“I’m not bored!” Jack butted in hastily. “It’s true! And to be honest Lady Gothel deserved it – you know what she got me for my birthday? Bird feed!”

The King chortled. “That’s terrible, Jack. Whatever did you do?”

The Prince crossed his arms and scowled. “I said ‘thank you’, of course.”

The Queen beamed. “That’s my boy.”

When she went back to watching their guests, the King leaned towards his son and muttered “Is that all you did, Jack?”

A small smile crept onto Jack’s face. “I may or may not have hidden the birdfeed in her hat. She may make some feathered friends tomorrow.”

The King chuckled. “It’s a good thing you are still cute, son.”

The Prince gave his father an affronted look. “I’m not cute, Father. I’m twelve!”

“My King!”

The three royals looked up to see the Captain of the guard, Aster Bunnymund, enter the room with a smile on his face. “Trader Johann has returned from his trip, and has come to wish the Prince a good birthday.”

“BUNNY!” Jack bellowed as he jumped off his throne and ran pell-mell into the Captain’s arms, nearly sending Aster toppling over as he did.

“Oof! Careful, bitesize! And don’t call me Bunny.” The captain said with a frown. Jack pouted up at him, and sighing, Aster relented. “Fine. Don’t call me that _in front of your guests.”_

Jack sighed and folded his arms. “Fine. You’re no fun.”

Aster winked at him. “On the job at the moment, Jackie. We can play later.” He then ruffled the prince’s hair, for good measure. The prince bapped his hand away irritably.  
“I’m not a little kid anymore, Aster.”

“’Course not, bitesize.”

The King and Queen, by this point, had made their way across the room to where the Captain and their son stood. They politely nodded at their guests as they passed, arms interlinked, the red of the King’s cloaks sweeping behind them, whilst the Queen’s dress announced their coming like a turquoise firework to the eye. Reaching her son, the Queen pressed her hands to her hips and gave Jack an admonishing look. “That wasn’t particularly princely, was it?” She shook her head, the beads and feathers woven into her hair swaying as she did. “I thought you were grown up now?”

Jack shuffled his feet, his eyes lowered to the floor. “I _am_ grown up. I just haven’t seen Aster for _ages…”_

The King and Queen shared a look with Aster, each smiling quietly. The Captain himself was quite young, and pretty new to his rank. He was a very established warrior, a traveller from a far off land, and made a distinct impression upon people very easily. Despite only just turning twenty, he was not to be meddled with.  
As the King had said, it was a good thing Jack was cute, as it turned out Jack liked to meddle with Aster as a hobby. Frequently.

The Queen turned to Aster, raising a brow. “You said Johann was here?”

The captain nodded, grinning. “Yup. He’s brought a whole load of goodies from the North, too.”

“The North!” Jack exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Where did he go this time? The forgotten city of Arendelle? The forests of BenHul? The Archipelago Mountains?”

“Calm down, son.” The King smiled. “I’m sure if asked, Johann will be happy to tell you.” The Queen made a face at her husband, before rolling her eyes. Oh yes, Johann was usually quite happy to share his travelling tales…and share…and _share_ …

“Well, then, best get back to your throne, your highness, so he can be announced.” Aster grinned, nudging Jack on the arm. Jack was off like a shot, hurrying across the throne room like a mini whirlwind, plonking himself upon the small throne between the King and Queen’s, calling for his parents to hurry up.

The King snorted at his son’s antics, offering his wife his arm as they followed.

Jack had always been besotted with the North, though his parents never understood why. It was rough, dangerous wild land, where there was no particular ruling power – only numerous tribes scattered about the wilderness in a higgledy-piggledy mess. The earth was near barren, the food tough and scarce. The people that lived in such a place were tough and stubborn creatures, hardened by their environment. But the lawlessness of the place created great concern for the Southerners, especially the King and Queen of Caruselle.  
  
The last time someone attempted to create a civilisation in the North, it had resulted in numerous attacks from jealous tribesmen, leaving the city decimated. Only the ruins of Arendelle remained.

Maybe the prince’s intrigue stemmed from his father. After all, King Nicolas was a northerner himself – one of the few survivors of Arendelle. The King had not been born royal, he was – in fact – the son of a carpenter. But he had inadvertently saved a young princess – who had been on her way to a gathering in Arendelle – and the rest was history. Many had argued that Nicolas should merely be the Queen’s consort, not named King, but Thiana would have none of it. Her husband was her equal. They would rule together.

You can imagine how well that went down with the nobility.

But North had always entranced his son with bedtime tales of the north – how in the forgotten city, the Moon Dragon watches for those pure of heart, that she can snatch them from their fates and make them her own. In the forests, trolls and dwarves lumber about, mining from the earth the richest jewels of the land.

 But above all, Jack relished the tales of the Archipelago Mountains, where great warriors ride on the backs of beasts, and battle for their tribe’s glory and freedom with fire and steel.

They knew Jack dreamed of going there one day. And that too was worrisome.

“Your Excellences, if I may? Introducing Johann – intrepid trader of the Greater Lands.”

Jack positively clapped for joy as Johann swooped into the room, followed by his crewmates, each laden with chests and barrels of something new and exciting.

“Thanking your Majesties for having us!” Johann laughed jovially. “And where is my favourite customer?”

The Queen had to hold out her arm to stop Jack from jumping from his seat. Instead, the boy asked all too excitably “Is it true, Johann? Have you just come from the North?”

“Ah yes, the North. Filled with many dear friends. Perhaps your highness would be interested in a new bow, carved from the whispering willows themselves! Or perhaps a new shield, made with the lightest and most excellent steel dragons can forge?”

“Dragons?!” Jack gasped, eyes widening.

Johann chuckled. “Yes, dragons boy! How else would my friends in the North become such master craftsmen of the flame and forge?”

The Queen patted her son’s knee softly, reminding him to keep a little decorum. Then she turned to Johann herself. “Where else have your journeys taken you, Johann? Might you have anything for the rest of us?” she asked with a wry wink at her son, who blushed and tried to sink into his seat.

“As a matter of fact, Your Majesty, I do!” he replied with a grin, gesturing at a couple of crewmates laden with heavy trunks behind him. Opening the crates, the Queen gasped as spools of silk of bright and beautiful, jewel like colours pooled onto the parquet floor. “Woven silks from the Eastern Kingdom of Corona. I learnt of their experimenting with different flowers for new dyes, your grace, and positively flew there on your behalf.”

“They are lovely, Johann.” The Queen cooed. “If I may?” she began to get up from her throne, eyes laid upon the silks.

“Of course. By all means, your Majesty.”

Jack whined pitifully, hands pinned beneath his bottom as he stayed upon his throne. Half the room chuckled at the Prince’s antics, and with a roll of her eyes, the Queen offered her hand to the boy in invitation. “Care to join me, Jack?”

It seemed no matter how the Queen tried not to spoil her son, Jack still managed to make off with a new bow and matching, leather quiver, a hand-carved ivory dragon, embellished in sweeping strokes of gold paint, and finally – as the boy moved to return to his throne – Johann stopped him and pulled from his satchel one last gift.

“For your birthday, my Prince. This is a rare and ingenious gift, carved by hands as royal as your own.” With great care, Johann placed a small spyglass, simple in design, into Jack’s hands. Jack frowned at it, puzzled.

“This was made by royalty?” he asked.

Johann stroked his beard. “It was made by the son of a Northern Chieftain. Clever lad – will make a fine leader one day.”

Still bemused, Jack wandered back to his throne, holding the spyglass carefully along with the rest of his haul. The King clapped his hands together, bidding the minstrels to start playing.

“Thank you, Johann, for such fine trade and gifts!” he called jovially. “Please, join us for the rest of tonight’s festivities!”

“It would be my honour, My King.” Johann bowed, dismissing his men – all of which quickly bee-lined to where wooden chalices and flagons of wine were available.

The party continued – Jack danced with both his mother and father, and giggled as he watched Captain Aster ask one of the young ladies of court to a dance, only to be politely declined. It was funny to watch Aster pouting. Girls were icky anyway.

Suddenly, the herald had returned, pounding his staff upon the floor before calling “Your Majesties, Lords and Ladies – a second trader from the North seeks audience, in tribute to the Prince’s birthday.”

The King and Queen shared a look. Johann was one thing, he was a known friend and a trusted trader. This new stranger was something different. That and they were from the _North._

Unfortunately, it was that one particular tidbit that Jack had picked up on, and was now practically clinging to like a limpet. “The North? Can we please see him, Father? Mother? Maybe he’s been to Don Valiante? He may have sapphires, Mother, you know you love sapphires!”

Queen Thiana bit her lip before nodding slowly. “Alright. Let this trader and his crew in.”

The doors opened, and a tall, hulking man stepped through the ornate archway and into the throne room. He wasn’t pleasant to look at – his black, straggling hair and beard were matted and tangled, his bright, piercing eyes had a redness to them that suggested a life with too much liquor. He hunched like a bear, his broad, powerful back somehow disproportionate to his stumpy legs. The trader smiled. His teeth were either yellowed or missing.

“Many thanks, your Majesties, for seeing me at such late announcement.”

The King nodded, his eyes no longer jovial. Now he was watching. Waiting. Jack, for one, had decided that now was not an appropriate time to jump out of his chair.

“We are intrigued, trader, at what new commerce you may have to offer.” The Queen replied, a placating smile fixed on her lips.

The curled grin on the trader’s face did nothing to assure Jack. This guy seemed like nothing but bad news. “New commerce, eh? My ‘stock’ - as we’d call it – is a required taste. Never-the-less, it ‘as a lot of _use_ , and therefore a lot of value.” The man sneered. “Would y’ladyship like a look?”

The Queen ignored the slight at her title, and simply nodded. “If you would be so kind.” She replied calmly.

The doors opened again, and Jack fought the instinct to cry out in horror. But then, the guests of his party made the gasps of shock for him.

 Men and women, chained with collars and manacles, and dressed in little more than rags, trudged into the hall. The party guests pressed along the walls of the throne room, clearing the centre and allowing for the poor creatures as they filed in. Jack’s eyes widened with horror as more and more poured into the room. Finally they stopped, every single pair of eyes glued to the floor. Their number seemed endless, but it was likely there were about sixty in total. Every one beaten and bruised. Every one broken and used.

Jack felt sick. Looking at his parents, he knew he wasn’t alone.

The King stood up, eyes raging. “What is the meaning of this, trader? You know slavery and slave trade was abolished in the south years ago! How dare you come to this castle and-”

“If I may, your Grace?” the trader interrupted, still smiling. “I was on my ways to The Black Fort. Special order, y’see? Lord Pitchiner ordered thirty young souls for him to do whatever he will with ‘em. I brought a few spare, just in case he was interested. But then I hear it’s young Prince Jackie’s birthday, and I thought to meself; Why not give the Prince a present? A little someone to keep him company, if you know what I mean?”

The trader winked, and the Queen’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly how old do you think my son is?”

The trader shrugged. “Hardly matters, does it? A bed warmer is a bed warmer.”

The Queen began to shake with anger. “How can you be so callous? My son is twelve, you would do well to offer your business with better tact.” She bit frostily.

The trader raised a brow, shrugging. “Suit yourselves. So I take it you aren’t interested then?”

“Absolutely!” snarled the King, but the Queen raised her hand.

“We never said we weren’t interested.” The Queen replied coolly, giving her husband a significant look. Slowly, the King’s clenched fists unfurled, and he sank back to his throne nodding.

“I was hasty.” He muttered. “Proceed.”

Jack stared at his parent in disbelief. They were actually going to _buy_ people?! People that should be free to make their own way? Their own decisions? He was about to speak out against it all, when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He looked up, and there was Aster, moving his head in tiny shakes. He knelt down by Jack’s side and whispered in his ear. Jack’s eyes widened, but finally he nodded, promising to stay quiet. In his hands, he rolled the spyglass absently, his fingers in a constant state of fidget.

He watched as the trader bragged about his stock, gesturing at each bruised human being like they were prize cattle. Jack frowned slightly as his Father moved from the thrones and started slowly – but surely – choosing from the collection of people before him.

“Only thirty!” the trader constantly reminded. “I still have an order to fill!”

Contrary to the trader’s advice, King Nicolas picked out the old and sick first, then started to choose in a broader sense. As his father meandered around the stock of slaves, something caught Jack’s eye.

There, stood at the very side of the slaves, as if not to garner attention from the King, was a small boy. Easily the youngest there, though he still looked older than Jack. Unlike the rest, he was clothed in a grubby, green tunic, and his manacle cuffs weren’t rusted iron, but simple bronze. And unlike the rest, his eyes weren’t on the floor. They were on Jack. Or, at least, Jack’s _hands._

Jack paused, glancing down to see what the boy was staring at. The only things in his lap were his gifts from Johann, the spyglass still clasped in his hands, but now stilled.

He raised his eyes again to look at the boy, but now the slave boy was pointedly looking at the ground. Jack frowned. No-one that young should be a slave.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the trader clapping his hands. “And that makes thirty, Milord. Pleasure to do business with you – will you be payin’ in gold or interested in a trade?”

The King rose from his throne, and as if from the shadows one of the servants hurried to his side, carrying a small chest. “Thirty gold pieces should settle the cost, yes?” the King asked haughtily. The trader rubbed his hands.

“Absolutely, your Grace. Most generous of you.” The servant moved slowly, handing the trader his gold before darting away again. “I supposed we best be going then! The rest of you – move it!”

The slave began to trudge away, and something jarred in Jack as the boy turned to join them. Ignoring Aster’s firm hand on his shoulder, Jack jumped to his feet and cried out. “Wait!”

The entire room seemed to pause, shocked to see the Prince acting so. But Jack schooled his face to one of sheer determination, meeting the dirty great trader square in the eye. “I would still like to choose my present.”

The trader blinked, then laughed hoarsely. “Is thirty slaves not enough for you, boy?”

Jack shrugged. “They were my Father’s choice, not mine. Where is my birthday gift of goodwill?” Jack fluttered his eyes innocently. “After all, I will be ruler one day. It’s probably wise to stay in my good books.”

The trader stared at the Prince, mouth agape, before it snapped closed and his eyes narrowed fiercely at Jack. “By all means then, little Prince. Choose yourself a birthday present, on the house.”

“I’ve already chosen.” Jack replied, head held high. He could sense his parents staring at him from either side, but for now he could not bring himself to care. Not when the boy in green was finally looking at him. Not the floor. Not his hands. But _him._

“The boy on the far left. In green. I would like him.”

The boy’s eyes nearly bugged out. His face paled, and suddenly the freckles that danced across his nose and cheeks could be seen all the more starkly.  
Meanwhile, the trader’s face had tightened, his smile even more strained than before. “You have a good eye, lad. But I’m sorry to say that one is not for sale.”

The shiver that shuddered down the slave-boy’s spine was barely noticeable, he’d tried hiding it so well. But still all three royals noticed. And – without even a word, or a glance of acknowledgement – all three knew the trader would not be leaving with that boy tonight.

“I didn’t ask if he was for sale.” Jack replied, his voice unwavering. The Queen’s lips fought not to smile with pride. “I said I wanted him as my present. I’ve no intention of buying him.”

The slaver lost any pretence of niceties at that. “You think that a high and mighty title will make me hand me own slave to you, free of charge, boy? That one was difficult to get a hold of, and he serves as payment of a debt his Da owes me.”

“Then consider this.” The Queen spoke, standing from her throne in one swift movement. Her silken robes swirled around her, the colour of peacock feathers, and in one swift movement, she gently plucked from her hair one of the precious feathers that had been woven into it.  
The room fell utterly silent. You could hear a pin drop. The Queen’s eyes were resolute as she held the feather up for the slaver to inspect.

“This is a blue phoenix feather. The phoenix is our symbol, as Caruselle will always and forever rise from its ashes. The blue phoenix gave to my family ten feathers, saying each generation will have but one wish, a wish that will be granted to reflect the heart of the wisher. This is the magic of the South.”

Jack stared at the feather, awestruck. The feathers had been braided into his mother’s hair for as long as he could remember, although there were pictures in the palace hallways of his Grandnana wearing a necklace with identical feathers adorning it. He always thought it pretty jewellery. But now, looking back… there had been three feathers on his nana’s necklace. And only two feathers hung in his mother’s hair. Well… one now.

The slaver stepped forward, staring at the feather. “One wish?” he whispered.

The Queen nodded, her eyes burning. “Yes. I shall give my wish to you. You could have anything your black little heart desires… in exchange for the boy.”

The man glanced at the Queen, then the blue feather that seemed to shimmer and glow faintly between her fingers. Then his eyes flicked over to where the slave boy stood. Jack did the same, and noticed that the boy was now looking straight at his feet, making eye contact with no-one, the blush on his face travelling past his cheeks down to his shoulders. He wasn’t even bothering to hide his trembling anymore.

The slaver sneered at the boy, then turned to the Queen, plucking the feather from her hand. “Done. Though he’s not worth all that, you should know. Not worth a phoenix feather.” He laughed with a wicked gleam in his eye.

The Queen didn’t blink. She simply replied “I believe a life worth more than you can ever own on this plain, tradesman. A soul is priceless, as you should know, coming from the North.”

Jack didn’t know what his mother meant by that, but it seemed every Northerner in the room did. Even Johann flinched.

 The trader just glowered at her, before muttering “Whatever you say, your Majesty. My true clientele await me, I’m afraid. So we’ll be on our way.” And with that, he strolled over to where the boy stood, and after a moment of rummaging in his pockets, he thrust a bronze key at the boy’s feet. Without another word, he grabbed the closest slave still in chains, and took the rest of the horde outside, beyond the King or Queen’s reach.

The Queen turned to one of the servants, saying “Release them all. Give them food and proper clothing. I will speak with them all in the morning.”

The former slaves looked shell-shocked, as if they could not believe their ears. They stared with wide eyes as they were unshackled and led away towards the kitchens.

Jack watched as the young boy stooped to pick up the key at his feet, releasing his own cuffs and rubbing his wrists. His eyes met Jack’s, and they lit up. Jack smiled and waved, wistfully wishing he could go to the boy. Instead, he stayed on his throne. The boy bowed his head, and mouthed something to Jack before he was whisked away by the Caruselle servants. Jack felt his belly warm a little. He still felt a little light-headed from standing up to the slaver, and the look in the boy’s eyes just made him feel even dizzier.

Once the slaves were gone, the room burst into a cacophony of noise. “My Queen, your feather!”

“The boy was not worth it! Did you see him?”

“A runt of a child! And a Northerner of all things!”

 “A practically useless little beast if I did see one!”

That drew Jack out of his haze.

“STOP!” Jack yelled. “It was my choice to save him, and I will gladly give up my right to the feathers for him.” He gave his guests a stern look. “No-one is useless. Who are you to judge a person by the life handed to them, just because they aren’t as lucky as you?”

The room fell silent. Jack could practically hear his heart trying to jump out of his chest. He heard movement behind him, and then felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

“My son has turned twelve today, and yet has shown the compassion and wisdom of a grown man. I could be no prouder than I am today.” Jack looked up as his Father’s voice rumbled across the room, his own chest swelling at the King’s words.

“Tonight’s festivities have ended quite abruptly.” The King continued. “I bid you all get home safely, and remember the good of tonight before the bad.” He raised his hand to the room, saying solemnly “May the moon watch over you.”

Jack nodded, murmuring back the reply “May she light your soul’s way.”  
  
Slowly, the guests filtered out of the palace, petering away into the night to their grand, stately homes. Jack faced his parents. “Now that I’m twelve, do I get a later bed time?”

The Queen laughed softly. “It is quite late enough, Jack. And all this excitement has tired me out too.”  
“Me three.” The King added, scooping his son into his arms, and beginning to head towards the sleeping wing. Jack immediately started squirming, yelling “I don’t need picking up anymore! Let me down! Let me dowwn!!”  
Chuckling, the King set Jack down upon the floor, promptly cuing Jack to run madly up the stair towards his room. Yes, he was tired. But he knew he couldn’t sleep. His heart was thumping and his veins were buzzing with a high. Not just from his birthday or the party. Not just from standing up to that bully of a trader. No – as Jack took the stairs two at a time, his hands still clutching his new spyglass, he knew – it was the boy. With his green eyes and freckled skin and crooked smile. It was the look of happiness and hope in his eyes, seconds after removing those cuffs. Jack bounded into bed, still warmed by the words he could still see being mouthed in his mind:

_Thank you._


	2. The Boy from the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says 'High Fantasy' than a made-up language. (I have a notebook on Mûnthan dialect and grammar. I wanted to be as precise and professional in 'language creation' as the folk that came up with Klingon. Please bear with it - I have translator's notes at the end.)
> 
> ALSO: Musical Muse for this chapter was 'My Freedom', by Two Steps from Hell

_Chapter II_

**_ The Boy from the North _ **

 

When Jack woke the next morning, the entire palace was bustling. Not one servant was free to help him dress, but Jack didn’t mind. He chose to wear his scruffiest breeches and weather-beaten tunic, before padding out into the hallways barefoot. He could hear music and laughing echo down the halls, and with a skip in his step, Jack hurried toward one of the courtyard facing balconies, and gazed down at the scene below.

The courtyard was buzzing with life – tables had been pulled out with benches, and were laden with thick pottage, oatmeal and honey. Fresh apples sat in clusters next to flagons of sweet wine. The liberated slaves sat, laughing and singing merrily as they dined. Jack smiled at the sight; these were much different people to those he had seen bound and chained last night.  
  
The clothes they wore, whilst modest, were thick and hard wearing, and offered much greater dignity than anything those loincloths had. Some sported bandages, wrapped carefully around their wrists. But their wounds didn’t seem to stop them dancing or singing.

Jack scanned the long benches again, and frowned. There was no sign of the young boy. Leaning further over the balcony, he finally spotted Trader Johann in the shadow of the palace wall, tying goods to a cart whilst talking to – there! Jack grinned brightly as he spotted the boy from last night, currently knelt beside the cart and fiddling with one of the wheels.

You couldn’t see much of the boy where Jack stood; he was facing away, his head bowed over the cartwheel as he concentrated. What you could see was the way his new tunic – two sizes too big, it seemed – practically floated on him. The neckline gaped, falling off one shoulder and revealing more freckled skin to the morning sun.

Jack bounced down the sandstone steps to the inner courtyard, the spyglass at his hip narrowly avoiding an overflowing urn of flowers as he went. His clumsy arrival caught most of the former-slaves attention, and they cheered brightly, jabbering away at Jack in a twisting language full of vowels and ‘v’ sounds.  
Jack smiled and nodded back, slowly making his way through the crowds to the other side of the courtyard.

Johann stood to the side of the kneeling boy, his arms crossed and brows furrowed, watching the boy work as he spoke. As Jack got closer, he realised Johann was speaking the same strange language as the other slaves. Jack frowned, approaching slowly.  
  
“…meta verba es Mat?”

The boy sighed. “Paya met ceska es senshud?”

“Oioh.”

“Tâc, Johann?”

Johann glared at the boy, passing him a small wrench. The boy took it nonchalantly, and went back to the wheel he was repairing. Johann sighed in exasperation. “Meta relena esa Relvas d’Caruselle lorek met. D’Relva juro pala es.”

The boy didn’t look up as he replied “Mata relena. Vesno mat fyndkir vesa sherhmlên… Mata ninesa puna libas.”

“Vesno esa _lyran,_ Hiccup!” Johann exclaimed, waving his arms around comically. “Esa Lyran d’Relva juro d’Caruselle!”

The boy simply shook his head. “Mata nin pala de wataro…” he replied, smiling sadly at the wrench in his hand. Johann knelt before the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Met pay es.”

The boy looked down to his lap, fiddling with the wrench. “Tâcninvish…”  _(see end notes)._  


Johann nodded, his eyes roving over the boy’s face, before they caught on something beyond his shoulder. He grinned broadly. “Prince Jack! How long have you been stood there, good friend?”

The boy next to Johann seemed to jump out of his skin, before he spun on his knees to face Jack full on. Now Jack could see him fully, he noticed the bandages wrapped carefully around his wrists, the bruises on his upper arms shaped like hand-prints, and the tan-line of a pale band circling his neck.

Jack blinked at the boy, his own curious amber eyes meeting with the others. Green was such a pretty colour. ‘ _Unlike mine.’_ Jack thought grumpily. He cleared his throat, saying “I was hoping I could meet you before you left.” His eyes darted to his shoes. “But now I guess there’s not much point if you don’t understand me…”

The boy shook his head quickly. It almost made Jack laugh; it looked like he’d shake it right off if he could.

“No, no, I understand!” he replied, almost a little too loudly, getting to his feet. He was short for his age, his eyes level with Jack’s. “Just… please talk-” he hesitated, then turned to Johann. “…Putna?”

Johann smiled. “Slowly.”

The boy nodded, colour rising in his cheeks. “Tâc – I mean, yes. _Slowly._ ”  
Jack giggled into his fist as the boy said the brand new word, as if tasting it whilst it rolled of his tongue. He tried to compose himself, as his parents would have told him to, and stuck out his right hand. “My name is Jack of Caruselle, pleased to meet you.”

The boy glanced at the hand offered him quizzically, before exchanging the wrench in his left hand to his right, and gently running his thumb over Jack’s wrist. Normally, Jack would have grinned brightly at the gesture. His Dad had told him about Northern customs, and this boy had basically asked for Jack’s friendship.

Of course, normally touching someone wouldn’t usually feel like lightning coursing through your entire nervous system. Normally brushing one’s thumb over an acquaintance’s wrist wouldn’t leave you breathless, like all the negative spaces inside you had been filled and then emptied again in the briefness of that touch. Jack jerked back, his hand slipping from the boy’s touch, eyes wide. “What was that?!”

The boy stuttered. “I-I am unsure.” His own wide eyes flicked to Johann, who was watching the boys. He snorted. “Ever heard of static shock, boys? It’s like lightning, only smaller.”

Jack nodded slowly, familiar with the static shock his freshly laundered bed sheets had sometimes, making his hair stick up at all ends. The northern boy gave Johann a fearful look. “Lightning?”

“Thorên.” Johann explained, before adding with a wry smile “Vesa met relena nin d’thorên. Payna met a’vagna?” _(1)_  


The boy stared at Johann, seemingly at a loss for words. He turned to face Jack, his gaze flicking all over Jack’s face. “Mata al’revagna.” _(2)_  He mumbled.

Jack frowned. “I can’t understand you, you know. That’s kind of rude.”

The boy blushed, his green eyes lowering to the ground as his newly booted feet kicked the dirt. “I am not sure how to say… is difficult… You are not from _Kirfyndel,_ you do not know…” he glanced at Johann.

Johann tsked in annoyance. “Met es zelcusa. Mata nin crowa met _esu.”(3) **  
**_

 _“Johann.”_ The boy pleaded.

“Fine!” Johann snapped. With a sigh, he faced Jack in all his bewilderment, and said softly. “We’re all returning to the North, my Prince. All must go where they belong. There is a home waiting for us.”

The boy put his hands in his face. “Esa nin a mat ren’al.” _(4)_  


Jack frowned. “But your home is the road, Johann, you are a trader. And hasn’t Mother spoken with the freed slaves yet? They can stay if they like!” His eyes flashed to the boy, who was watching Jack with sad eyes. “You could be a knight! I want you to stay!”

The boy’s shouldered tightened at Jack’s words, then drooped as he shook his head slowly. “I have father at home. He worry very easy. I have not seen home for many months…”

Jack bit his lip. If he’d been taken from his home for months on end, the first thing he’d want was to go home. But at the same time, there was something about this boy that made Jack want to protect him, regardless of his age and size and frankly deplorable swordsmanship.

The bruises and bandages weren’t helping.

Jack chewed on his lip furiously. His head told him it made sense for this boy – the green eyed boy that Jack had saved from slavery – would want to go home. But at the same time he wanted to cry because something in his chest was crying out ‘ _why?’  
_ And that pulling in his chest only confused him more. And that made him want to cry more. Which made him even madder because _only babies cry._

“Hey…”

Jack looked up, glaring through his red-rimmed eyes. The boy had moved so quietly, Jack hadn’t realised until he was looking up at that bright green again. The boy frowned, his hands lifting and gently cupping Jack’s face, prying his well-gnawed bottom lip from his teeth.

“You will bleed your lips.” He chastised. He pushed some of Jack’s fluffy brown hair from his face, his hands coming to rest on Jack’s shoulders.

“I will… come back.” He promised, the words shaky, but not in meaning. “I want to- to see you…again.”

Jack nodded slowly. Then he brightened, his hand curling around the brass telescope that was strapped to his belt. “I want you to have something.” He smiled, his fingers scrabbling at the ties on his belt. The boy watched in confusion as Jack pulled the telescope from his side and presented it, beaming. The boy glanced at Johann, mumbling “Met crow’ar men?” _(5)_  
“Nin.” Johann replied, shaking his head. He knelt at Jack’s side, saying “This is your birthday gift, Jack. You don’t need to give it away.”

Jack shrugged. “I’m sorry Johann. I do like it, honest I do! But he has a really long journey ahead – he probably needs in more than I do.”

Again, the boy shook his head with a sad smile. “Keep. Is yours.”

Johann snorted, rolling his eyes. “Vesa met car crala es navu." _(_ _6)_  He muttered, only to be given a sharp look seconds later. Jack wasn’t really listening, a little bit put out that his gift had been rejected. He bit his lip again, and immediately heard a sigh as gentle fingers again tried to save his chewed up mouth.

“Bad habit. It hurts you.”

Jack pouted at the boy, who simply met him with an unimpressed look. “I want to give you something to remember me by.”

The boy blinked, and then laughed brightly. “I remember you, trust me.”

Jack shook his head, a little stunned by the other boy’s laughter. It was warm and bright, like midday sunshine in an Indian summer. “No, that’s not what I mean, I-” Jack stopped abruptly. Both Johann and the Northern boy looked on, unsure, as a mad grin cracked across the twelve year old’s face. “Wait here! I’ll be right back!”

Jack set off at a run, diving back up the sandstone stairs, down the balcony hall, up the west wing corridor and back to his own room, leaving stunned servants and footmen in his wake. He flung himself into his room, diving for the chest of draws tucked in beside his armoire. Soon its contents were strewn over the parquet floor, unceremoniously thrown to the side as the prince rummaged in search for – Aha!

Jack straightened, pulling from the drawer a simple silver medallion. Only it wasn’t just a medallion – what looked like a smooth, simple silver coin hanging on a silver chain suddenly flipped open in Jack’s hand, revealing an ornate compass that Jack had made a few months ago with his father.

The prince had a bad habit of getting lost in the palace gardens, especially the maze. North had pulled his son aside, and together they had made the little trinket – Nicolas with his tools, Jack with his funny little designs.

Just as a personal touch, Nicolas had engraved the back of the compass with an intricate little snowflake. ‘The symbol of Arendelle.’ He’d said. Jack had treasured it, but if the boy would not accept Jack’s spyglass, maybe he’d accept the compass to guide him.

Jack sprinted down the hall again, rushing out the courtyard and across the main plaza, only to find his mother stood with Johann and the boy, speaking quietly. From a distance, Jack could see the boy’s grim smile and slowly shaking head, whilst Johann spoke to her in hushed tones. Why did his mother look so pale?

Jack approached cautiously, the compass tucked in his palm behind his back. As he got closer, the boys eyes moved from the Queen to Jack almost automatically, and his smile widened again. It was like the sun coming out.

Confidence renewed, Jack moved forward and stood by his mother, mirroring the other boy’s smile. “Jack, dear.” The Queen said warmly. “I hear you were giving your birthday presents away?”

Jack floundered for a moment as his raised an eyebrow at him. “Mother…” Jack blushed, toeing the paving beneath his feet. “I wasn’t being rude. I just thought I could help…”

The Queen shared an amused look with Johann, who barked out a laugh and then pointedly swung an arm around the freckled boy’s shoulder. “Ah! Young love!” Johann sighed dramatically. “If your father could see you now, he would wax lyrical for weeks!”

Jack immediately turned a beet red, spluttering indignantly whilst attempting to keep hold of at least a _little_ dignity. The northern boy, however, was unamused.

“ _Nin met bela crowa men.”(7)_ he hissed back, pushing Johann’s arm off with a glare. Johann raised an eyebrow.

“Met imgra d’Sel nin’al crowa men?” _(8)_  


At that, the boy didn’t respond, but his shoulders slumped considerably. Jack, having pulled his decorum off the floor and cooled his cheeks somewhat, finally pulled his arm from behind his back. The compass dangled on its chain from Jack’s pale fingers, glinting silver in the morning light.

“I’ve no idea what you are saying.” He said bluntly. The boy flushed again, and Johann went to apologise, but Jack cut over them both. “I don’t really mind it. I just wish I could understand too. But that doesn’t matter – I want to give you this, instead of the spyglass.” He raised his hand slightly, offering the compass.

The boy stared at what looked like a small, circular locket, before tentatively taking it into his hand. His fingers may have been bandaged, but they were none the less nimble as they unclasped the compass’s lid and flipped it open, revealing the delicate snowflake depicted on bright metal, and an equally delicately carved needle, pointing north – and for the boy, _homeward._

 _“Es selena…” (9)_ he whispered, running his finger over the polished surface. The Queen watched the whole scene with a resigned quietness. When Jack passed over his compass, however, the Queen couldn’t help but gasp. “Jack, are you sure? You and your father made that yourself!”

Jack nodded with bright eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The boy glanced at Johann, puzzled. “Vema?” _(10)_  


“D’Relva juro crala d’varagral, a met hmlén.” Johann explained, gesturing at the compass and then Jack. At first, the boy looked stricken. Then he tried to give Jack the compass back. But as he attempted to press the compass back into Jack’s palm, the prince’s hands grabbed the other boy’s, stilling them as he shook his head. “Keep.” Jack grinned, parroting the boy’s words back at him. “It’s yours.”  

With that he stepped back, feeling a little smug at the stunned look on the other’s face. Then the boy finally relaxed, a shy smile creeping over his face as he undid the chain’s clasp. “Help?” he asked, holding the chain out to Jack.

The rest of the day felt like a blur for Jack after that. He’d blushed madly when his fingers brushed the boy’s neck in his clumsy attempts to help put the compass on. After that it had been a rush of movement – of ex-slaves busying about, gathering supplies and saying teary goodbyes to each other and the servants that had been so kind to them. Of slow moving carts, and caravans of scruffily dressed folk headed north – headed for home. Jack had scurried to the library, where the window’s faced north, and had watched one particular cart - where sat a familiar head of shaggy auburn hair pooled by a too-large tunic - until he couldn’t make out individual faces anymore, and the caravans seemed like pin pricks on the horizon.

Jack stayed at that window all day, regardless.

 

-:-

 

The room was still in silence, Jack’s thoughts spinning over the events of the night and that morning. Beyond the window he sat at, the streets of Caruselle stretched out before him, curling in pretty patterns and glinting silver in the moonlight, like a giant spider web. The homes of his people hugged the streets; tall buildings with sloping roofs, with balconies of embellished iron peering over to the cobbles below. Laundry lines stretched this and that way between neighbouring homes, stray garments fluttering in the breeze here and there. Caruselle was at peace in all its beauty.

 Jack smiled at it sadly, in his hands the spyglass spun in a similar manner to his thoughts, glinting silver in the pale moonlight just like the cobbles below. Jack curled in upon himself on the window seat, uncharacteristically quiet for the boisterous prince, head bowed and face hidden in his knees.  
  
Cautious, the servant approached the young boy. One servant – Molly Carris – knelt at his side, frowning. “Sire? Are you well?”  
  
Jack gave a small nod, turning his head to stare out at the star-spangled sky. Molly’s breath hitched; in the reflection of the glass, she could see the prince’s face. It was glistening with tears.

“Little prince, what’s the matter? Why the tears?”

At this, the Prince’s head shot up, full of indignation. “I’m not little, and I’m not crying!” he snapped. “Crying is for babies! Do I look like a baby?”

Molly gave him a placating smile. “No Sire – but in that case, are you in pain?”

Jack gave her an irritated look, seeming completely oblivious to the silvery tears still running down his cheeks. “I’m fine.” He replied vehemently. Molly gave him an odd look, before beckoning him toward her. “What?”

“You have something on your face, Sire” was all she said. Rolling his eyes, Jack got up from his seat and made his way over to the gilded mirror that hung on the parlour wall, muttering about fussy maids and how girls were weird. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at the mirror, first shocked, then confused, then utterly bewildered.

“But…” he mumbled “I’m not sad. I can’t feel anything.” He raised his hand to his face and blinked a couple times in surprise when his fingertips came away wet. Molly watched with growing anxiety, her pale blue eye fixed on the boy before her as his shoulders began to tremble. With a nod of her head, she gestured to her fellow servants to get the King and Queen.

With as much tenderness as she could muster, she pulled the boy gently from the mirror and back down to the window seat, shushing him and hugging him to her side. She winced as warm tears soaked in the shoulder of her tunic.

Jack was at a loss. He was angry – why was he crying? It was silly and babyish! But at the same time, a tiny ache was starting in his chest, and it seemed to grow with each tear. He could practically feel the moonlight as it filtered in through the window, like lush taffeta on his skin. Yet it felt cloying and heavy, and getting heavier by the second. He gasped in a breath, and a broken sound escaped him. It hurt. It hurt a lot, and he had no idea why.

That was when the King wrenched him from the window seat, pulling his son to his arms and wrapping his cloak around him. The darkness was abrupt, and Jack yelled at the suddenness. But strangely, the heavy feeling was disappearing, even if the stinging in his chest stayed.

“What happened?!” The king demanded furiously. Molly faced him, red curls quivering as she shook.

“I noticed him crying. I tried to comfort him.”

“Crying? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Jack felt his father’s hand rub his shoulder underneath the cloak. “Why were you crying Jack?”

Jack tensed, before shaking his head. “I don’t know.” He replied hoarsely. “Until Molly said anything, I didn’t even know I _was_ crying.”

The king’s cloak shifted, allowing the king to peer down at his son, the King’s kindly blue eyes meeting Jack’s warm amber. He wiped on tear away with the pad of his thumb, only for it to be replaced with another. “ _Nec Ragor-Luen…”_ The king murmured. “When did this happen?” He paused, then turned to the maid behind him. “Prepare my son’s room. Nothing but candlelight, plenty of water and fresh linens. _Do not let the moonlight touch him.”_

He shrugged off the velvet cloak on his shoulders and draped it over Jack’s frame. Jack looked up at his father, eyes questioning and cheeks tear-streaked. “Try to sleep.” He murmured softly. “Go to bed, and try to sleep.”  
  
A fresh pair of tears rolled down Jack’s cheeks. “It hurts, Father.” He gripped his tunic, grabbing at his chest. “Why am I hurting?”  
  
The King gave his son a sad look, then turned back to the doorway, where the Queen watched with equally saddened eyes. “I don’t know.” The King lied.

The servants puttered away, leading Jack to his chambers in a far less jubilant manner than the night before. The Queen touched her husband’s shoulder, whilst King Nicolas glowered at the floor, deep in thought. “We need to find him.” The king muttered.

“That boy?” the Queen asked gently.

“That boy.” The king agreed, eyes lifting to where Jack had just stood. “The boy that Jack saved last night. The Mûnthan boy.”

The Queen shook her head. “We can’t, he’s not in the city. He was one of those that returned to the North with Johann.”

The king stared at her incredulously. “He _left?_ But he was safe here – we offered shelter, protection, even apprenticeship to the Knight’s Guild. _Why_ would he leave?”

The Queen smiled sadly. “I spoke with him this morning, after Jack had ran off. No matter what was offered, he had to go home. He had duties of his own to fulfil.”

The king raised a brow at that. “Duties?”

The Queen nodded. “Johann said the boy wanted to stay, to help Jack become a good King, but it was impossible.” She sighed. “How could he stay, and leave his Chief and father with no heir?”

The King’s eyes softened. “A Prince from the North…” he turned, glancing to the corridors Jack had been led down not moments before. “Those poor boys. Ragor-Luen pulls them together, whist blood and mountains keep them apart. They will be tortured until they reunite…”

The Queen remained silent. She knew the reasoning behind her husband’s words, of course. It was the very reason for their marrying. True, she loved her husband dearly, but as a denizen of the South, she did not know the pull of the Moon – the Magic of the North – the way her husband, and now her son, did.

 But Jack was a child of two worlds. It was unsurprising that the Great Dragon of the Moon would take a claim of Jack’s heart, and give it to another Northerner for safe keeping. And now they know this Northerner to be a fourteen year old boy – Son of a Chief and heir to his own throne in the North – with tired green eyes and tawny hair, manacle blisters on his freckled wrists and bruises blooming over his entire body.

In the North, any King or Chieftain would be horrified to have their son bonded to such a pitiful creature. But Nicolas had seen anguish and war. He’d seen Arendelle in flames, burning from the inside out. He’d seen his friends crawl out of the hellfire, with their own hellfire burning in their eyes.

Most of those friends were gone now. But they had been great men, and even greater warriors.  
The Prince of the North had fire in his eyes, and a noble heart. True, in being partnered to his son, the boy’s leaving would cause them both great suffering. But as to the boy himself? Nicolas could not be happier for his son.

If only they were together.

The Queen winced as a familiar cry rang out down the halls, followed by shrill yells of ‘Close the curtains! Close them!’ from the maids. “How…how bad is it? The pain?”

The King became very quiet, remembering those short few months between saving a young noblewoman from a bunch of northern bandits, and finally finding her again sat upon the throne of Caruselle. “Excruciating. And it only worsens with time.” He recalled. He shook his head slowly. “Ragor-Luen meant for this. The pain will make Jack stronger, and trust me – the boy will return for him… what was that boy’s name again?”

The Queen blinked at her husband, before replying “I never asked. He never said. I… I don’t know.”

The King snorted. “Fine hosts we are, to the Nobility of the North.”

The Queen rolled her eyes. “I hope you are right, Nicolas. I hope he will return.”

The King nodded. “Trust me, he’ll be back. Even if Ragor-Luen would drag him back screaming.”

 

-:-

 

Little did King Nicolas know how true his words would ring. Johann knelt by the side of one of his carts, eyes filled with worry at the whimpering coming from beneath the cart. “ _Hiccup? Can you speak?”_ he asked, the Mûnthan language slipping past his lips in a jumble of vowels.  
A small groan could be heard, and slowly the boy crawled from his dark sanctuary. Johann hissed. “ _Stay under the cart! Stupid boy!”_

Hiccup, for his part, blatantly ignored Johann, and pulled himself from the dark earth beneath him. He leant himself up against the cart, the moonlight splaying over the side of his face, making the tear-tracks on the boy’s face shine. He hugged his arms close to his chest, and then did something that made Johann blink in shock.

He laughed.

“ _Hiccup? Dear Great Dragon, are you well?! Did Alvin break you?”_

 _“No, Johann.”_ Hiccup smiled, turning away from the moon to face the trader face on. “ _I’m fine. Better than fine, I’m happy!”_ Fresh tears rolled down the boy’s face as he grinned. Johann stared at the boys, shaking his head in confusion.

“ _We were the ones that left Caruselle – you walked away. The pain you have will be tenfold his, in punishment for leaving…why are you laughing?!”_

Hiccup shook his own head earnestly. _“You don’t understand, Johann. Last night I was a slave, serving a man that hated my people on principle. I had no future, no friends, no chance to seek out the one the Dragon’s chosen for me. Tonight? I am free, I am going home. And-”_ he pointed at the tears on his face _“- I have seen my kindred, and he is kind and beautiful. I will gladly endure this pain; it is nothing compared to the misery of the last six months. This pain means I am his, and that we’ll find each other regardless. This pain is my hope, Johann. My happiness. That is why I’m laughing.”_

Stunned, Johann knelt at the boy’s side as he continued to laugh. A small rash started to appear on his bare shoulder, but Hiccup didn’t seem to mind. They’d continue their journey to the Archipelago Mountains in the morning – for now the boy wept and smiled, staring at the moon as if it were the greatest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Munthân conversation between Hiccup and Johann:  
> (J) “Are you listening to me?”  
> (H) “Could you pass me the wrench?”  
> (J) “Hey.”  
> (H)“Yes, Johann?”  
> (J) “You know the Royals of Caruselle like you. The Prince especially.”  
> (H) “I know. But my people and family… I can’t leave my life behind.”  
> (J) “But a knight, Hiccup! A knight of the Carusellen Prince!”  
> (H) “I’m not much of a warrior anyway…”  
> (J) “You could be.”  
> (H) “Maybe…” 
> 
> (1) Johann: “But you know it’s not lightning. Can you really leave him now?”
> 
> (2) Hiccup: “I’ll be back.”
> 
> (3) Johann: “He’s twelve years old. I’m not telling him about that.”
> 
> (4) Hiccup: “That’s not what I meant.”
> 
> (5) Hiccup: “You told him?”
> 
> (6) Johann: “And you can make a new one.”
> 
> (7) Hiccup: “Don’t you dare tell him.”
> 
> (8) Johann: “You think the moon won’t tell him?”
> 
> (9) Hiccup: “It’s beautiful.”  
> (10) Hiccup: “What?”


	3. The Tale of Five Phoenixes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the comments and Kudos. Every time I get an email that says "Dude, y'all have a comment", I get warm fuzzies.  
> Now, just a quick apology for this chapter. Sorry guys.
> 
>  
> 
> Musical Muse: Hunter's Moon by Two Steps From Hell

_Chapter III_

**_ The Tale of Five Phoenixes _ **

**__ **

There had been no signs, no terrible omens or solemn warnings to ready anyone, except a barbaric slave-trader travelling south to Forte Blacke, thirty slaves in tow.

And six years had passed since that fateful night – the event was now all but forgotten by the people of Caruselle now. Except the royal family remembered – they remembered all too well, and were given the same painful reminder every full moon.

Jack had a rough night, last night. The servants had taken to wrapping his hands in silk sheets, to stop him from savagely scratching at his chest. It was that fact alone that meant when Jack rolled a bit too far to the left, he couldn’t even grab his sheets to pull himself to safety.  
As such, Prince Jack - heir of the Kingdom Caruselle, home of the Blue Phoenix and Gate to the North - began his eighteenth birthday as a graceless, tangled heap on the floor.

“Ow.”

When Molly bustled in fifteen minutes later, Jack was still sitting on the floor by his bed, the sheets a crumpled mess around him. She rolled her eyes. “How did you manage that, then?”

Jack scowled. “I fell out of bed, obviously.”

“And didn’t bother getting up?”

Jack shrugged noncommittally. The aftermath of last night was still echoing through him, like needling shards of glass being slowly tugged out of his chest by equally needling tweezers. It was painful, yet relieving. And weirdly it sort of left him feeling hollow. Molly flicked one of her long red curls, now streaked with snowy grey, behind her ear and moved to pull the Prince to his feet. “Bad night, huh?” she murmured sadly. Jack nodded.

The pain didn’t follow Jack to the realm of sleep, instead he was haunted by dreams – beautiful, bittersweet dreams of a young boy, standing next to a large lake, a forest surrounding them and great hulking mountains looming in the distance. The moon was reflected in the lake’s water, like a mirror. It lit upon the young boy at all angles, who stood at the water’s edge with the spyglass at his eye, staring into the distance.

Jack would move, the sound traveling, and the boy would turn, lowering the spyglass and looking at Jack with those green eyes – eyes that had haunted Jack for years. He never spoke – Jack wondered if it was because he could no longer remember the boy’s voice - but he always smiled. And his smile was always so sad and wistful, like a forlorn apology.

When he woke, Jack always wondered what the boy looked like now. In his dreams, he looked the same as he did that hazy, jubilant morning six years ago – a too long tunic that reached his thighs, scruffy brown breeches that would have better fitted a child, and worn boots made of reddish oxen leather. And, of course, the menial silver compass that Jack had given him swung from the boy’s neck, like a medallion.

Jack wondered if the boy kept the compass. His own eyes flitted to the spyglass that sat on his own writing desk. Jack wasn’t sure why he associated the spyglass with the Boy from The North (as everyone in the palace referred to him as), but he had treasured it regardless. Over time, Jack had asked his father to help when the spyglass broke or lens shattered, only for the silver scope to improve with every visit.

The silver casing was now somewhat ornate; King Nicolas had soldered entwining images of hemleaf vines and thorbury flowers onto the spyglass’ extendable sides, claiming them to be wildflowers of the north. He’d even engraved the circlet that held the lens in place; circling words that Nicolas had told Jack was a Northerner language called Mûnthan. Jack only knew a little Nathern – his father’s mother tongue – so the spinning words made no sense to him:

 _Mata sel a’ra sora d’firé,_  
Vesno Mata vuw’ar met.  
Vesa met, lura, selana met -  
Metta mat firé, sel’a vesa couyr.

…Nope. Not a clue. Though the way it flowed rhythmically as his father read it, Jack had the feeling it was a Mûnthan poem. His father refused to tell him what it said. When Jack asked, Nicolas would merely reply “He’ll tell you one day.”

Very helpful, Dad.

Jack let Molly help him get to his feet, wincing as the fabric of his clothes brushed against his sensitive skin. He usually spent the day after the full moon sore for most of the morning. The pain would be gone by two.

Molly pulled from the cavernous wardrobe in the Prince’s room the clothes that had been specially prepared for the day – he was to dress primarily in blue, as a sign of respect to the blue phoenix. The under-tunic was a deep blue that had sleeves with small rings on the point of their cuffs, made to loop around Jack’s middle finger and cover the back of Jack’s hand. Over that was the sky blue, short-sleeved tunic with embroidered sleeves and belt. Next to all this finery, his plain, doeskin breeches and boots seemed very plain, but Jack was comfortable. Anymore silvery stitching, and he’d feel ridiculous… spoke too soon.  
Jack’s face fell as Molly pulled out a dark blue cloak – a simple design with a hood, with silver embroidery on the hem. Jack moaned, but Molly gave him a firm look. “You get away with not looking princely for 364 days of the year. One day of finery won’t kill you!”

“Isn’t it enough I’m wearing shoes?” Jack whined, pointing at the boots on his feet. “By the way, these pinch.”

“They’ll stretch.” Molly replied sweetly, pulling the cloak around Jack’s shoulders and pinning it in place with a jewelled fastening, shaped like a feather and faceted with thirteen small sapphires. Jack glared at it with disdain, before giving Molly a look of loathing.

Molly raised her hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger! It was your forefathers that decided the 18th birthday of every future Carusellen King was to be spent looking like an oversized peacock.” Jack’s face darkened to murderous. “Don’t pout Jack, it doesn’t suit you.” She chided.

“I have to go out in public like this?” he growled. Molly grinned and gave him a wink.

“I’m sure the girls will love it.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “As I was firmly reminded last night, I’m taken. Though when the guy will actually show up is another matter entirely.”

Molly gave him a sympathetic look, before shrugged and saying softly “Today could be your lucky day. You never know.”

Jack gave her a small, wry smile in return. “Nice try, Molly. But you and I know it’s more likely the Blue Phoenix will come back from the dead and profess its undying love for the Moon Dragon.”

Molly snorted. “How melodramatic. Come along, your parents are waiting in the banquet hall. You have a busy day, what with the Fete and all.”

Jack moaned as the old, motherly servant all but dragged him from his room. The Fete! How in the name of Fares had he forgotten about that? The kingdom had spent the best part of the last two weeks decking the streets with bunting and banners. Traders and travelling entertainers had been turning up even before that, setting up camp with their colourful tents that lined the streets of Caruselle.

Jack had, of course, be caught trying to sneak out to see these entertainers a number of times, but it wasn’t what the guards thought – Jack wasn’t trying to ruin his ‘birthday surprise’, his reasons were more practical than that. These people were _travellers._ Which meant some of them may be from the North. Which meant there was a slim chance that _one of them might know the boy from the north…_

Jack hadn’t had much luck with that theory. The few times he actually did manage to sneak out, he met only a few people from the north, and most of them were woodland folk from BenHul Forests. There were a couple that came from the southern-most side of the Archipelago Mountains, but they were far and few between, and barely spoke any common-tongue. It was hopeless.

The thought alone made Jack want to curl up with despair. Instead, he was being dragged by the wrist to the banquet hall, where the familiar figures of his parents stood side by side waiting for him. The Queen Thiana had lost little to none of her beauty in the passing years – the only tell-tale signs of time passing on her were the laugh-lines at the corners of her eyes, and the white hair that was barely noticeable mixed with the blonde.

Next to her, his father was far more changed with time. His hair had gone from salt-and-pepper, to pure white. His eyes still practically screamed his youthful spirit, but there was an underlying sadness in them that only Jack could understand.  
The King hated the full moon nights almost more than Jack did. Almost.

“How did you sleep, son?” he asked softly. Jack shrugged again.  
“Barely.” He replied truthfully. He’d had an argument with his father a couple years ago, when he was hiding how bad the full moon affected him. Since then, he told his parents the whole truth. That, and he had his hands wrapped in silk before bed.

His mother merely reached over and hugged him. “We wanted to speak to you about that, before we head out for the festivities.” She pulled back, just in time to see Jack arching a brow at her.  
His father chuckled. “You are a man now, Jack. You need to take control of your own life – including your love life.”

Jack blinked once. Twice. “You mean?”

The Queen nodded, grinning. “We’ve spoken with Captain Aster – he and four of his men will accompany you to the North, on a quest to find the Boy from the North.”

Jack stared at her, before practically bounding back into her arms, grabbing both of his parents and hugging them fiercely. “Thank you!” he crowed, grinning brightly. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you a thousand times, thank you!”

“Promise me you will be careful, Jack?” the Queen asked, prying herself away from her son’s death grip. He nodded rapidly, then frowned.

“How will I find him? The North… it’s huge…”

The King and Queen shared a significant look, before the King turned back to Jack. “You still have that old spyglass, don’t you Jack? The one Johann gave you?”

Jack nodded, still confused.

“Can you remember why Johann gave it to you?”

Jack shrugged. “It was a birthday gift. He said it was made by hands as royal as my own. But how does that help me?”

The Queen bit her lip, then said “We asked Johann further about the spyglass, and he told us he could help you on your quest.” She held out a small leather pouch to Jack, who took it, still feeling a bit bewildered. “He found an enchantress on the Dunbroche Isles. This powder will lead you to the maker of whatever item you sprinkle it on.”

Again, Jack frowned. “How does finding some Northern Royalty help me?”

The King looked Jack dead in the eye, a smile quirked on his lips. “The reason why your Amaro couldn’t remain here, Jack, is because he has his own throne to inherit.”

Jack looked at his mother and father in turn, his mouth falling open unintentionally. The spyglass – this whole time – and all those years ago, the boy had been staring at Jack’s _hands._ The hands holding the spyglass. The spyglass the boy had made. And then told Jack to keep. As if he knew – did he know? Did he knowingly leave Jack to suffer like this? Was Jack abandoned?

When did Jack stop breathing?

“Jack! Jack, calm down – you aren’t thinking sensibly!”

“But!” Jack gasped. “But he left that spyglass on purpose! He was saying goodbye!”

The King and Queen stared at their son in horror as the boy became redder and redder in the face, his breath coming shorter and shorter and his frame starting to shake. Then, Nicolas did the only thing he could think of. He slapped Jack, clear around the face. “Get a grip boy! That is not how the Northern Magic works! The Moon Dragon would never forgive it! And she is a cold creature – her fury would be cruel indeed.”

Jack stared up at his father, shell shocked. “You slapped me.”

“You were being stupid.”

“You still hit me.”

“You aren’t babbling about being abandoned anymore, are you?” Before Jack could answer, Nicolas was already speaking over him, calm and clear. “There are many reasons he could not return for you – for example; The Mûnthan people are of an unforgiving nature. There are many tribes in the mountains, and they are near constantly at war. When one is heir of a Chieftain, you can bet they’re a busy person.”

Jack considered this, the nodded slowly. Nicolas continued. “He could not leave his people, nor could he drag you into their battles. You are safe here, it’s true Jack. But I, as your father, cannot bear to see you hurt any longer. And as I said Jack, you are a man. You must fight your own battles.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at this. “Then why wouldn’t you let me use a sword?”

To Jack’s surprise, Thiana laughed. “You are a terrible swordsman, dear, it cannot be helped. We taught you to use weapons that suit you.”

“Like staffs and archery?” Jack asked, his voice dead pan, his face unimpressed.

The Queen shrugged. “Long range suits you.”

Jack was about to argue with his mother, when a stout servant strode into the hall, coughing impertinently to get their attention. “If you please, Your Graces, the kingdom awaits.”

The Queen gave the man a pleasant smile. “We’ll be coming now.”

Jack glowered at her. “This isn’t over, mother.”

“I’m afraid it is dear. Order of the Queen.”

Jack groaned, following after his parents in defeat. His mother tended to do that a lot.

 

-:-

 

The streets, as expected, were packed full to the brim with colours and shapes – stilted men in bright, contrasting body suits with sweeping bell-bottom leggings that rustled in the breeze. Jugglers with an array of props, from brightly coloured balls, to flaming batons, to daggers as sharp as dragon teeth. Women dressed in long sweeping skirts, dancing together with ribbons and tambourines. Jack grinned as he made his way through the streets, his mother at one side, and his grumpy best friend (and currently bodyguard) Aster at the other.

And then there was his entourage.

Jack didn’t know what it was about him, but the children of Caruselle were drawn to him like flies to honey, and above all else? He didn’t mind a bit. They surrounded him with bright, excited chatter about how they’d help their parents prepare for the fete – “especially for you, Prince Jack!”  
He felt a bit like a shepherd, followed around by the children. One little girl – Jack knew her name to be Rosie – had snuggled between Jack and his mother as she clutched her patchwork teddy bear, shyly taking the Prince’s hand, for fear she’d get left in the crowds otherwise. Jack grinned down at her, squeezing her tiny hand in his own.  
Aster rolled his eyes. “What is it with you and kids? You get all soppy, mate.”

Jack laughed, glancing at his friend from the corner of his eye. “Kids know how to have fun, Aster. Unlike one captain of the guard I could mention.”

Aster sniffed. “It’s just going to make it harder to get you out of trouble, tripping over toddlers to get to you.”

“You worry too much, Aster.” Jack chided.

“You don’t worry at all.” Aster grumbled. The party was stopped by an entertainer, who was animatedly talking with the king and queen, his hands waving about in the air. Thiana turned to her son, grinning. “This man claims to have a new form of theatre, from the North West of Don Valiente – shadow puppetry. Come on, he’s telling the story of the Five Phoenixes.”

Jack beamed at her whilst the children around him cheered, and then immediately started to quarrel over who would sit next to Jack. Aster rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “Ankle biters.”

“Perk up, Bunny.” Jack teased, poking Aster in the ribs. “You were young once too. Sure it was a long time ago…” Jack ducked as the guardsman swiped at him. The kids around them giggled as Jack stuck his tongue out at the Captain, before leading them all into a dark tent, where a small stage backlit with candles sat in wait. The party sat around the stage and waited, some of the children pinching and shoving each other in the dark.

Silence fell as suddenly, the flames behind the screen turned a bright purple, sparking wildly until they died down to their usual gold. The children gasped and whispered excitedly. Jack only smiled as Rosie buried her face in his cloak.

“As many of you know” boomed a voice in the dark “Our world was built from fire and ruin, reborn from the ashes in the same way our makers were. And our makers were five sacred phoenixes.”  
The staged then sprung to life – the candles behind the screen changed to a deep, flickering red, as the shadowed shape of a flaming bird appeared on the screen.

“The first was Hermis, the Passionate One. He re-awoke the volcanic planes, and built fertile lands from the silent seas that covered the earth.”

The flames suddenly changed again, turning a fervent yellow. “The next was Charis, the Steady One. She roused the sun from its slumber, hidden by clouds of dust in the skies. She welcomed the warmth back to earth.”

In a flash, the yellow turned a bright viridian green, and another image of a phoenix graced the screen. “Then there was Verdis, the Gentle One. She breathed life back into the plains, and crooned to the seeds and sung them to grow. Her sweet music filled the air, as then the plants filled the earth again.”

The green light flickered away, suddenly pitching the room into darkness. Rosie whimpered into Jack’s chest, to which he petted her curly blonde hair soothingly. Then, like an explosion of colour – bright blue streaks of flame blossomed from behind the screen, silhouetting the image of a particularly wild looking phoenix.

“Next, there was our own patron of the South – Fares, the Protector. He watched the world with careful, all-seeing eyes, eyes that could pierce your very soul. After him was lastly the youngest of these creatures: Laris.”

The blue faded, only to be replaced by a brilliant, blinding white. “Laris sought out the bodies of man, and judging the pureness in their hearts, breathed life back into those she deemed worthy. Under their watchful vigil, the world was reborn.But with a world of new love a light, there would always have to be balance…”

The candles blew out, and Jack peered through the darkness only to see at the last moment, the puppeteer threw what looked like a pinecone into an empty pot that radiated heat. With a gasp, the audience watched as a bright tower of purple flames roared up from the pot, lighting upon the image of a terrible, crow-like creature, with huge talons and razor-like beak.

“The Black Plague stirred from its slumber, reawakened by the presence of new life.” The Crow began to move, guided by the puppeteer’s nimble hands. The images of the five phoenix reappeared on the screen, and Jack watched with unease as each puppet was unhinged, falling to pieces behind the screen. “One by one, the Plague sought out the Five Phoenixes, and one by one, they succumbed to the dark. Except one…”  
  
The puppets were unhinged, the pieces littered at the bottom of the stage, until only one phoenix remained. Jack eyed the puppeteer’s assistants as they sprinkled a strange dust in a small circle around the steaming pot. The dust crackled and sparked a deep blue. Finally, the puppeteer stepped forth and dumped an entire bag of the dust into the pot, and the effect was immediate. Blue flames roared around him as he continued the story.

“Enraged at the death of his kindred, Fares dove to the very heart of the Black Plague – and swallowed it whole. Fares was no longer the pure entity of the phoenix – he’d been tainted by the Plague, and it made him hollow inside.”

The flames died down to a steady thrum, like a little heartbeat in the middle of the room. “Wounded and alone, the Phoenix fell to the earth again, hiding in a wall of mountains and waiting to join his brethren. Whilst he waited, he was found by a dweller of the mountains – a young girl with skin as pale as the moon.”

A soft white glow filled the room, followed by the silhouette of a girl with long, braided hair. The puppeteer continued, speaking softly. “She tended his wounds and kept him company, soothing the emptiness and saving his sanity. Fares could not help but fall for the girl.”

Next, a flurry of movement, and Jack suddenly realised he was watching the passing of time. The girl grew to a young maid, then an older woman, then finally a crone. The puppeteer continued speaking as the images passed hypnotically. “Time flew by, and Fares resolved to protect his girl from all pains. She lived a long and happy life, but mortals don’t last forever…”

The white glow died away, leaving only the dim light of the dying blue flames. The image of the old crone also unhinged, and fell to the floor, along with the collection of Phoenix pieces. Jack could hear sniffling in the darkness, and with a jolt, he realised the front of his tunic was wet.

“Don’t worry, Rosie.” he hushed. “Watch and see!”

 The little turned her face to watch the shadow puppets again, just in time to see another bright white flash, and the silhouette shape of a beautiful dragon, its wings stretched in mid-flight.

“Fares would not accept this. He had contributed nothing to new world, but he was determined to contribute _this._ With the last of his pure power, the blue phoenix gave his beloved life in the form of a dragon as white as the moon. With a finally breath, the Blue Phoenix turned to ashes – choosing to die rather than lose himself to insanity.”

The puppeteer paused, his eyes flitting to the lone feather woven into the Queen’s hair. _“_ Before he died, Fares gifted the girl’s descendants with ten of his feathers, promising one wish granted every generation for the next ten generations. As I speak, the ninth generation of this family thrives as rulers of Caruselle, and the tenth-” the Puppeteer’s eyes landed on Jack, and he smiled. Jack gulped. “His journey is yet to begin.”

In the silence that followed, you could hear a pin drop.

That is, of course, until the explosion.

The entire tent seemed to tremble with the force of it, the floor quaking beneath them. Above the wails and cries of scared children, Jack could hear Aster shouting at them to get to safety. He saw his father and the captain share a look, before Aster’s hand locked around Jack’s wrist and he bodily started dragging Jack out of the tent, into the street.

What was once bright sunlight beaming down from above was now a deep, overcast grey – muted light tainted by the foreboding clouds and cutting winds. Aster began to yank Jack onward, pulling him further through the streets, which were now clogged with frightened people, twisting and writhing throngs of townsfolk desperately searching for their loved ones, confused as to what was happening.

The sky darkened further, and what looked like streaks of black smog flew through the air, arching across the sky before pounding into the cobbled streets of Caruselle, sending debris in all directions.  
Screams filled the air as the shots of darkness landed in the midst of Caruselle, and Aster didn’t allow Jack chance to see why. The Captain yanked Jack’s hood over his head, and began running like a bat out of hell toward the palace. 

Jack could feel his face tighten with the cries of his people. Caruselle was in danger, and he was running. With a firm tug, he wrenched his arm from Aster’s grip.

“What are you doing?!” Aster snarled. “You need to get to safety!”

“I need to help my people!” Jack yelled furiously. “I’m not running – my parents are out there!” It was true; back at the shadow-show tent, which now resembled a mashed mess of splinters and tarpaulin slashed to ribbons, the two royals faced an enemy so ancient, the couple never thought they’d see it in their lifetime.

The King withdrew twin blades from their sheaths, the Queen unsheathing her own weapon of choice – a small brass cylinder than rapidly extended to from a bright spear. From her second sheath she withdrew an ivory dagger. They both glared at the creature before them, but it was the Queen that spoke.

“You were destroyed years ago.” She hissed. “Go back to your hellhole.”

The only reply she had was distorted, gurgling laughter. The King bared his teeth furiously. “You were warned!”

Meanwhile, Jack fought furiously as Aster dragged him by the hood towards the castle, throwing kicks and punches as he did. Aster hissed, ducking them both behind a set of barrels as one of those creatures lumbered past. He snapped his hand over Jack’s mouth, forcing the young prince into silence.

He breathed harshly against the captain’s palm, trying to catch his breath, but all too soon Aster was yanking him to his feet again, dashing through the streets of Caruselle towards the towering sandstone Palace before them. But Jack was having none of it, elbowing Aster in the ribs. “Get the hell OFF ME, ASTER.”

Aster merely grunted with the impact, moving steadily regardless of the wriggling royal that fought his every step. Finally, Aster snapped. “That’s ENOUGH, JACK!” He roared, grabbing Jack’s shoulders and shaking them. “Do you understand what’s happening here?! _The kingdom is being attacked._ And you, Jack, you are the Future King. They kill you, they kill this Kingdom’s future. But if you get to safety, you can get help and _come back stronger.”_

“And where the hell do I get help, Aster? DunBroche Isles? Corona Bay? Our allies are months away, even on horseback! By the time they get here, there’ll be nothing to save!”

Almost proving Jack’s point immediately, dark shadows suddenly wrapped itself around one palace towers, like a great, smouldering python. With a sickening _crack,_ the coils tightened, and the tower crumbled, falling into the streets below with a thundering crash.

 Screams filled the air, and Jack felt all the blood run from his face as his eyes landed on an abandoned yet familiar teddy bear in the middle of the street, surrounded by dust and rubble.  He took half a step towards the bear, before Aster spun him around and looked him dead in the eye.

“The allies of Caruselle are far away, yes. But Jack – **_you_** _have allies elsewhere._ You live in the _northern most kingdom_ of the Southern Realm! _Think for a minute!”_

Jack looked at him as if Aster had gone mad. The tall soldier slapped a hand to his forehead, smearing sweat and grime over his brow, and groaned. “Fares Almighty – You have Northern blood! You have a Moon-kindred, bondmate, Soul mate, _whatever –_ in the Archipelago Mountains. A Son of a Chieftain, no less! I doubt if you asked for help, they would refuse you!”

Jack fumed, the chaos around them momentarily forgotten. “How do _you_ know he’s from the Mountains?!”

“HE SPEAKS MÛNTHAN!” Aster bellowed. “IT DOESN’T TAKE A GENIUS! MÛNTHAN? MOUNTAIN? FOR FARES’ SAKE, JACK, USE COMMON SENSE!!”

**_SCREEECH._ **

Both heads snapped up to where the sound and come from, and both gasped as they came face to face with what looked like a mass of burning shadow, with nothing visible about its features except eyes that glowed red as hot coals, and a maw of teeth as sharp as shattered glass.

There was a split second silences where both Jack and Aster had frozen, locked in the stare of this horrific creature. Then it opened its jaw even further, seeming to unhinge it, before letting rip a great, garbled, shrieking scream.

Naturally, both young men screamed back.

With an air of utter finality, Aster shoved Jack in the direction of the palace, yanking out a strangely crooked sword from the sheath at his belt. “Don’t argue with me, bite size! Use the west tunnel – get out of here!”

Jack wanted to help. He looked around madly for anything he could use – a spear? A lance? Heck, even a flagpole would do! But he could only watch as Aster drew his second crooked sword and lunged for the creature. But no matter how the captain hacked and slashed, it did no harm to the creature. It was like trying to cut smoke.

Jack had never felt so helpless. He stepped back, fumbling behind himself fruitlessly for some kind of weapon, eyes glued to the scene of Aster locked in equally fruitless combat before him. That was how Jack didn’t even realise what he was walking into…what hid behind him.

He gasped in horror as something locked around his throat – shadowy, flickering fingers, with nails like talons. His fingers scrabbled at the scaly collar as it began to _squeeze._ He gulped at the air, sputtering and choking, his legs starting to kick out wildly. Black spots appeared before his eyes as the crumbling courtyard seemed to swim before him.

As he gasped, he swore he saw something; a figure running towards him in the distance, sword raised; and completely engulfed in blue fire. The familiar figure’s eyes seemed to burn with it, even as their face blurred before his eyes. They reached for Jack, freckled hands yanking at the claws that choked him. Jack could hear the boy yelling his name, _screaming-_

_“JACK, WAKE THE HELL UP!!”_

Something suddenly clicked into place, and the creature behind Jack howled as it released him, letting him slump to the ground as he gagged for air. The mirage faded, and the familiar face of Aster, with his jade green eyes, swam into view. Nothing like the eyes that burned with blue fire.

“W-what… _what-_ “

“Don’t argue with me this time, GET OUT!” Aster roared, dragging Jack to his feet and practically flinging him across the courtyard, before spinning on his heel to face not one, but _two_ of those creatures. Jack listened this time, and kept running. It was only when he reached the palace doors that he made the mistake of looking back.

Aster had thrown himself upon the creatures, taking them both by surprise. He’d somehow managed to stand atop them, one foot resting on each of their hulking shoulders. He’d used his swords like dual ramrods – slamming the hilts into the creatures’ temples before stabbing them both deftly between the eyes.

_Sclatch._

The creatures thrashed and screamed, throwing Aster from his tenuous perch. The Captain rolled with the forces, hitting the floor and tumbling across the courtyard.  
Still the creatures thrashed blindly, obviously in pain, yet it seemed they wouldn’t die – merely that they would stagger about the courtyard clumsily, the talons on their feet scraping across the cobbles.

Jack’s eyes widened as one of the screaming creatures blundered closer and closer to Aster, who having hit the floor, had yet to get up. Jack felt the air in his bruised throat constrict; he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t warn Aster to move, he couldn’t do anything to prevent-

**CRUNCH.**

Jack screamed anyway.

Tears blinded him as a hoarse cry clawed its way from his tender throat. Aster – or his body, at least – remained motionless. Jack wanted to run to him, but something was stopping him. The jagged needles of glass from the night before seemed to jar within him, and as the two creatures’ eyes levelled onto him, a voice inside his head seemed to beg ‘ _Do as Aster said – the West Tunnel! Now, Jack, please!’_  
From the corner of his eye, Jack swore he saw freckled fingers clutching at his cloak – now ripped in a few places, and dirtied beyond ruin – pulling him back towards the palace doors. But as he turned, the hands on him seemed to evaporate, the image fading into nothing.

Having turned away from the sight of Aster, limp and broken on the street, Jack couldn’t allow himself to look again. If he did, he would run to Aster’s side, probably dooming himself in the process. Because how could he help Aster now? Aster, who had sacrificed himself so Jack could escape.  
  
Jack hissed and pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he threw himself into the abandoned palace, hating himself more with every step he took; further away from his family, further away from Aster, further away from his home, his people… and closer to the unknown.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay guys. Quick little thing: 
> 
> I'm looking for a beta reader to proof read this story because I am already caught up writing chapter 5 and I don't have the willpower to go back and reread 5K of words and edit and stuff. So if there are any volunteers, please let me know :)


	4. The Seeker's Guild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical Muse: Black Blades Theme - Two Steps from Hell / Moon Trance - Lindsey Sterling

_Chapter IV_

**_ The Seeker’s Guild _ **

**__ **

Bloodied fingers scrabbled at the study wall furiously, scraped raw trying to find the hidden switch to open the passageway hidden behind the palace masonry. The palace shook, the sound of thunder roaring outside in the inner courtyard, mere moments from finding Jack. Howling outside the walls told Jack they were getting closer, and biting his lip, he pushed harder at on particularly stubborn stone that had wedged itself into the passage switch.

With a furious kick, Jack finally forced the stone free, the switch sliding back and the stony wall before him sinking into the floor, revealing and arched doorway and a steep stairwell that only seemed to lead to darkness.

Jack eyed the study door, which seemed to shake in its frame as the oncoming enemy drew nearer. Jack glanced around the room frantically, before spotting a small oil lantern perched on his father’s desk. He didn’t have time to check how much oil was left in the lantern – it was all he could do to snatch up a box of tinder-lights and strike the lantern to life.

Grasping the lantern’s handle, Jack hurried to the passageway, and started to carefully make his way down the steep steps. He must have stepped on a pressure point somewhere, because having just stepped onto the fifth stair, the stone wall slid back into place; closing the passage off to his pursuers, but also trapping Jack completely in the dark.  
The only way left now was forward.

Jack took a long, deep breaths, before continuing down the steps. Compared to the destruction above, it was eerily silent in the cavernous passage. Jack’s eyebrows furrowed as he peered into the darkness, concentrating on his footing and not tripping and falling to his untimely death. After all, Aster had just… he’d just… Jack shook his head furiously. He’d made sure Jack could escape the siege alive. It would just be inconsiderate to die of clumsiness now.

_Don’t think. Don’t think. Concentrate on the task at hand. Don’t. Think._

One foot in front of the other, Jack pointedly didn’t think about what had just happened. He didn’t think about the horror he’d witnessed in his people’s eyes as he and Aster fled the streets of Caruselle. He didn’t think of his parents, still trapped in their burning kingdom, still fighting… or worse…

He didn’t think of the children, scared and screaming out in terror. He didn’t think of the patchwork bear lying abandoned in the road. He didn’t think of Ast- Of his best frie- Of the _Captain of the Guard_ , lying abandoned in the road…

As he walked, lantern raised high above his head, he clutched at the satchel slung over his shoulder. The moments between leaving those creatures behind and getting to the escape tunnel seemed like a blur. All he’d known was instinct, and his instincts were pulling him northward. Maybe the moon-dragon was still affecting him. That would explain why, in those fleeting moments, he’d ran to his chambers, throwing the spyglass, a map of the North and the Sorcerer’s dust into a satchel, grabbing the abandoned scraps of silk he’d unwoven from his hands earlier as an afterthought. No doubt he’d need bandages later.

As he made his way through the passage, the ceiling gradually got lower, until Jack was nearly bent double as he trudged onward. On the stone walls, pictures started to appear – coarse, messy, almost juvenile pictures of creatures Jack had never laid eyes on before. They’d been depicted in stark black and white – chalk and charcoal, most likely – and as he moved along the wall, a story unfolded in front of his eyes.

Black stick figures with white eyes seemed to flee from an oncoming threat, arms outstretched back toward the palace. Some figures were even shown being trampled, attempting to drag themselves to their feet to join the mad rush again. Jack gulped as he raised the lantern, and gasped as a new colour came to play.

Further ahead was an explosion of red, the colour blaring out in a silent warning. Jack approached slowly, the lantern quaking in his left hand as he traced the stick-figures’ horrified faces with his right. The red splotch on the wall – Jack decided – was representing some great fire. The people were running from the fire? That isn’t something to worry about now, was it? Jack felt a glimmer of relief start in his chest, only to be squashed as he rounded the corner. Stick figures were shown starting the fire, in a bid to distance themselves from a _great horde_ of creatures. These creatures were squat, pot-bellied and shown with stark white, squashed faces and black, soulless eyes. They ran after the human figures with jagged spears, their black, python-like tongues flicking from gaping mouths wildly.

Jack stared at the image, his hands flinching away from the walls when they came in contact with something wet. Drawing his fingers toward him, Jack lowered the lantern and peered at his fingertips. They were streaked with red.

_Don’t jump to conclusions. It’s probably just clay dust and condensation. That’s it, just reddish, muddy water…_

Who was he kidding?

Jack pressed onward, refusing to look at the murals on the walls now – but from the corner of his eyes he could see the images getting more and more macabre. The whole process was unnerving, the black eyes staring out whilst wild white eyes screamed imploringly for Jack to run the other way. But he couldn’t. _He couldn’t._

Especially when the sound of a great crash, followed by the screaming wails of those creatures, echoed down the passage corridor. Jack’s mouth leapt to his throat, and he started straining forward all the more vigorously.

But it was hard – gone were the stony steps and paved walkways, they were now replaced by earthy paths, that seemed to slip and slope deeper and deeper into the earth. What’s worse, the earth was not unaffected by whatever is was that dripped from the walls, and Jack himself struggled to stay upright as the sticky earth sucked at his boots, and sent him skidding through the passage in his haste.

He cursed as his foot caught on the mud, sending him splayed face down. He spat away the mud on his face and dragged himself to his feet… only to blink owlishly in the darkness.  
Swearing, Jack fell to his knees and scrabbled in the dirt, searching furiously for his lost lamp. Not that there was any point – with no flint or tinder, he couldn’t relight it. That, and the oil had probably spilled anyway. Slowly, Jack stilled his hands, and everything started to crash around him; he was alone, in this dark, dirty tunnel with no end. His kingdom was in ruins, his best friend was dead, and he was _alone alone alone._  
In the distance, Jack could hear those monsters gaining. He could already imagine them – their hellish eyes boring into his, red as burning blood. Would it hurt to die? Maybe at first. He couldn’t even fight them, unarmed as he was.

Jack curled in upon himself, a shuddering sob wracking him. _He was going to die_.

As soon as the thought had entered his mind, Jack felt something grab at his shoulders. Jack yelled in fear as he was yanked to his feet, struggling furiously, regardless of his feet slipping in the mud.

“ _Lisens!_ _ **[1]**!” _ came a furious whisper, and Jack stilled, his heart beating like hummingbird wings in his chest. Was that _Munthân?_

 _"Alora meler? Alar'a?!” **[2]** _ the voice hissed, shaking Jack’s shoulders. Jack grabbed the other’s arms to steady himself, trembling as he yelled “I don’t know what you’re saying!”

There was a pregnant pause, before the man in the dark released his shoulders. “Huh.” Grumbled a gruff voice. “Common. You’re from Caruselle then?”

Jack blinked, disorientated by the man’s voice somewhere in the pitch darkness. “I…yes?”

The man snorted, then grabbed Jack’s wrist like a vice. Jack yelped as he was bodily dragged onward again. “You are lucky. We heard strange noises from West tunnel and came to investigate. Good thing trogs did not find you first.”

“Trogs?” Jack repeated, confused.

“ _Yes,_ the Trogs.” The voice replied, exasperated. They made a sharp turn, and Jack stumbled over his sodden cloak, panting as he tried to keep pace with his new…friend? Guide? Jack wasn’t sure he could trust the man in the dark – heck, he couldn’t even see him! – but right now, given the choice of staying lost in the dark and dirt or following wherever he was dragged, Jack was going to go with the latter.

“How can you see where we’re going?!” Jack gasped. He could practically hear the amusement in the man’s voice as he replied “I have pretty good eyesight.”

They kept going, leaving the sound of approaching monsters behind them. The whole time on his own, Jack had only ever been moving forward, but now with the stranger, the turns and twists in their path seemed to come out of nowhere. It was then Jack realised this wasn’t just an escape tunnel – it was an _entire maze._ A whole network of interlinking tunnels – some so low the prince was practically crawling, and others so narrow Jack had to hold his breath to squeeze through.

Finally, Jack could see light ahead, and sagged with relief when a lone torch appeared before them, ensconced in the wall. The walls around them, Jack could see now, were no longer stone, nor covered in gory murals. He brushed his fingers against the earthy walls, and balked when they seemed to crumble under his fingers.

“Ha! Don’t worry – it’s dry season. Walls will do that when there’s no rain.”

Jack’s head snapped around, finally seeing his saviour. The man was _huge,_ taller than Jack, which made him question how the guy had got through some of those tighter tunnels so easily. His bare arms that were the size of tree-trunks, circled at the biceps with bands of tattoos. His hands were huge and worn like dragon hide. He didn’t seem to have any weapons on him, but from the look of the guy, he could probably bash a boulder clean in two, never mind someone’s head. The man smirked down at Jack, his dark brown eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. “You act like you’ve never seen a BenHuln miner before.”

Jack gulped. “I haven’t.” But he’d heard of them.

The BenHul forest was more or less a giant band, stretching from one side of the Greater Isles to the other, cutting the southerners off from the North altogether – as if the natural wall of the Archipelago Mountains didn’t do that already. The forest wasn’t much of a wonder though, except that it was home to some of the nastier creatures in existence. Which is why usually, the only humans in BenHul forest were the ones that had been forced there.

The man snorted at the wide-eyed look the prince gave him, rolling his eyes. “Do you really believe all that talk about miners only being convicts?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know why you’d want to stay here otherwise.” He gestured down the corridor they’d come from, where strange, disturbing noises were still echoing. The man rolled his shoulders forward and folded his arms. “Occupational hazard.” He replied flippantly. “Sometimes finding precious things means facing a lot of bad stuff, right?”

Jack paused, his fingers settling on the satchel at his side absent-mindedly. “I suppose.” Jack replied. He furrowed his brows. “What exactly is it you are looking for?”

The man looked Jack up and down, before frowning himself. “We can talk later. You don’t look so good.”

Jack had to bite back a harsh laugh at that, partially because he wasn’t sure whether it would come out as a sob. “I just watched my kingdom be torn apart and turned to rubble, killing the people I care about. I don’t feel very good, either.”

The giant of a man stared at Jack, before whistling lowly. “Caruselle has fallen too, huh? It’ll be us next then.”

That got Jack’s attention.

“What?” Jack snapped, staring the man down, despite being at least three heads shorter. The man shook his head.

“I’ll explain when we’re back at base. For now, keep up. I need to find my partner.”

“Partner…?”

Before Jack could ask properly, the lug of a man was already grabbing the torch from its sconce, and thundering down the tunnel. Jack’s stomach lurched as he tried to make his feet catch up, but the silt on the bottom of his boots was still sucking and pulling, and he didn’t have the miner to steady him anymore.

When they finally made it back to ‘base’, Jack knew it. The entrance was fortified with great sand-sacks and iron bars, like a drawbridge gate. It was the brightest thing he’d seen for a while, as the place was surrounded by torches, burning a deep gold.  
The entire thing was still underground, weirdly enough, but it still felt like Jack was walking into a pretty imposing fort.

As they got closer, a shout was raised from somewhere beyond the earthy fortress walls, and the gate began to rise. Jack wondered how they could have been seen coming at all – obviously they had some pretty ingenious operations down here. The miner didn’t even wait for the gate to finish being raised, he just marched forward like a stubborn bull, not even blinking when he didn’t quite stoop enough, and managed to scrape his back against the gate’s piercing base.

Jack followed behind, glancing around as he entered what looked like the main plaza. Again, it was lit up entirely by torches, some hanging in lamps from the high, hollowed out ceiling. Tunnel entrances seem to wrap the entire room, leading off to Fares knew where. Jack watched as the miner trudged over to a tall man with a really reddish complexion – he guessed it was the miner’s ‘partner’ – leaving Jack alone and looking lost in the middle of this strange place. He looked about, trying to find some clue as to what he was supposed to do now. Was he meant to just wait here?

He sighed, rubbing his shoulder anxiously, and hissing at the sudden pain in his hand. Oh yeah – he’d just escaped certain doom, and had the bloodied fingernails to prove it. He’d almost forgotten that. He wandered over to some steps that had been carved from the earth itself, plonking himself down and rooting around in his satchel for the wads of silk he’d grabbed earlier.

 As he bandaged his hands - in that crude manner that only someone used to dressing his wounds for him could have – his eyes fell on something strange. Deposited in random piles all over the place were the strangest items Jack had ever laid eyes on. Each and every one was encrusted with a layer of dirt. Some were small and sleek, others large and chunky. Some were relatively intact, others were ripped open and strewn apart, held together by some strange string that either glinted like copper, or looked strangely waxy in the flickering lamplight.

“What are those?” Jack whispered to himself mostly.

“Relics of the old world.” Piped a voice next to him.

Jack jumped about five foot in the air as he yelped, grabbing at his tunic as he did. Perched next to him was a tiny girl – she couldn’t have been taller than 4ft 2 – with her arms wrapped around her legs, beaming at him. “Hello!”

Jack took a deep breath. “Hi.” He replied wearily. The girl wasn’t deterred by his lack of enthusiasm it seemed. She stuck her hand out to him, still grinning.

“I’m Vanela, best treasure hunter and cart driver in this joint. Who are you?”

Jack took her hand gingerly, partially due to his hands still hurting and itching like crazy, and partially due to being not a little perturbed by this overzealous girl. “Jack. Of Caruselle.”

The girl blinked, before bursting into laughter. It wasn’t unpleasant laughter, in fact it reminded Jack of the children of his kingdom, and it brought a smile to his face. Then reality… or rather, the memory of a forsaken teddy bear amongst the rubble of his home, came crashing back down on him. His smile faded a little.

The girl didn’t seem to notice. “Jack? Of Caruselle? Ain’t that confusing at all? I mean, that’s the Prince’s name, isn’t it?”

Jack nodded distractedly. “If you can even call me a prince anymore. My kingdom’s probably nothing but rubble by now…”

The girl fell silent. Jack turned to look at her, and nearly winced at how big her brown eyes had become. She bit her lip as she took the sight of Jack in, bedraggled and muddied, his lavish blue cloak torn in places, swaths of silk wrapped around his hands. His eyes were dull brown, like ditch water, and his hair was covered in mud and dust. There were even streaks of mud down his face. And Gods on high, he looked so tired.

“You really are the prince?” she asked softly, fiddling with her neckerchief. Jack nodded solemnly. He felt like there were heavy weights on his shoulders that had never been there before. Gone were the fun-times, the carefree home he grew up in. Now, Jack was no longer sure what his purpose was, or where he was even meant to fit in.

The girl – Vanela – looked him up and down, before letting a scowl settle on her face. With conviction, she drew her fist back and slammed it right into Jack’s shoulder.

“Yee-ahh! What was that for?!” Jack snapped as he was sent sprawling over the floor. Vanela folded her arms.

“You looked bummed out.”

“And punching me is going to help?!”

She shook her head. “It’s to wake you up, doofus. I do the same to Ralf whenever he gets mopey about Arendelle.” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes bad things happen. We can all feel bad about it, but sometimes overthinking the past just makes stuff even worse. There’s nothing you can do about past stuff.” She put her hands on her hips. “So stop worrying about that, and think about what you need to do next!”

Jack stared at her. “Next?”

“There’s obviously a path you need to take. That’s what’s next.”

Jack fumbled for a moment. “I needed to escape... Aster said I had to live… he said-” he blinked rapidly as Aster’s words hit him like a mallet.

“ _It doesn’t take a genius; Mûnthan? Mountain? For Fares’ sake Jack, use some common sense!”_

He froze, then suddenly made a mad scrabble for his satchel, yanking out both the spyglass and the pouch of sorcerer’s dust and clutching them to his chest, gasping for air. The girl – _Vanela –_ was right. Aster had told him his path. Now Jack just needed to follow it.

“Hey! Pipsqueak! Stop traumatising that kid any more than he already is!”

Jack looked up, and came face to face with the large boulder-like miner again. Snapping his head around, Jack nearly gaped as Vanela stood up and slapped the guy on his side, glaring.

“And where the hell have you been, boulder-brains? We’re supposed to stick together during sweeps! Felyx and Calhan have been doing their nuts, they’ve been so worried!”

The boulder-man miner gave her an unimpressed look. “Felyx worries too much. And Calhan doesn’t give a damn about anyone’s safety other than Felyx’s. She’s just miffed that I had more chance of killing trogs than she did.”

Vanela raised an eyebrow. “And did you?”

“What? I- No! I didn’t kill any trogs! I was too busy saving this guy.” He jerked a thumb at Jack. Jack rolled his eyes and got to his feet. He contemplated brushing the dust off his clothes, but after a closer inspection of his clothes, he decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

Vanela snorted, shaking her head. “Do you even know who ‘this guy’ is?” The miner shrugged. The girl slapped her hand to her face. “Oi… He’s the Prince of Caruselle, numbnuts! Sometimes I wonder if you really do have a brain up there.”

The miner looked from Vanela to Jack, taking in his torn up clothes and muddied skin. “Don’t look like much of a prince to me. He looks more like one of the kids on demolition. Trust me, I would know.”

“I feel like one too.” Jack replied drily.

Vanela delivered another swift punch to the miner’s stomach, though it didn’t seem to have much effect. “Rude much, Ralf?”

The miner – Ralf – shrugged again. “What? He does!”

Jack opened his mouth to retort back – probably something about how maybe his appearance had something to do with Ralf finding him face-first in the mud – but he was cut off by a loud, incredibly unmanly shriek of “RAAALF!!”

Jack stumbled as a blur rushed past him, and Ralf yelped as his face was grabbed and yanked downward to be inspected by – what Jack could now see to be – a stocky young man with an extensive tool-belt slung at his hip.

“Where in the name of trogmoles have you been? We’ve been worried sick!” the man released Ralf’s face, his hands on his hips as he glowered at the taller miner. “You know what? No. Don’t tell me. If you start telling me where you disappear off to on sweeps, I’ll probably have a betsy. Just – don’t go running off again! Do you have any idea what went through my head when Vanela here turned up without you? I nearly had a heart attack!”

“Whoa!” Ralf waved his large hands in front of the little guy’s face. “Time out, Felyx. Jeez!”

“You shouldn’t worry so much for a little guy.” Vanela piped up. Jack gave her a wry look.

“Like you can talk.”

Vanela stuck her tongue out in reply. But Jack was right – Vanela was still at least a head shorter than Felyx.

 At that, Felyx suddenly stopped and noticed Jack. He stood stock still for a couple of seconds for turning to Ralf with a new kind of thunder in his expression.

“What did you do this time?”

Ralf raised his arms and waved them above his head dramatically. “I didn’t do nothing!”

“I noticed!” Felyx replied gesturing at Jack emphatically. When Ralf just looked confused, Felyx sighed and turned to Jack.

“You, my friend, look exhausted. I’ll go talk to my fiancé about finding you somewhere to sleep. I’m Felyx Filiby, head of reconstruction – the mountain with no manners over there is my brother, Ralf. He’s head of demolition. Who might you be?”

The short man – Felyx – held his hand out to Jack, his bright blue eyes full of polite concern. Jack swallowed a lump in his throat, and slowly released his right hand from its death grip on the spyglass to shake the offered hand. “Jack of Caruselle.” He replied quietly.

It didn’t matter how quite Jack spoke, the man’s eyes still bugged out. “Jeepers! You really must’ve been in the wars! Did you come from the escape tunnels?”  
Jack nodded.

“Whoa, whoa, what escape tunnels?” Ralf asked, brows furrowed.

Jack blinked. “The old escape route from Caruselle Palace is the Western tunnel. It’s supposed to lead out to the Mirror Lake…” He petered off as Ralph’s frown got more and more intense.

“You are way off course.” Ralf growled. “Damn trogs – they’ve hijacked your tunnel and made a new route with it. No wonder you were lost.”

Felyx gasped. “You were in trog territory?”

Jack nodded slowly. “I…didn’t see anything though.”

Vanela snorted, rolling her eyes. “You wouldn’t have. They hate light – any light. They tend to hunt in the dark.”

A cold sense of unease seeped through Jack and settled like a stone in his stomach. “Thank Fares you found me then.” He murmured, glancing at Ralf from the corner of his eye.

Ralf shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

-:-

  
In some ways, Jack had to count himself lucky. He’d survived the siege on Caruselle, had escaped trog infested tunnels without incident, and then found himself in an underground fortress full of surprisingly hospitable people. He should be grateful for all his fortunes.

It didn’t stop his dinner – a modest stew – doing down in lumps as his thoughts lingered on his home. Where were his parents now? Were they still alive? Did Aster get the warrior’s funeral he deserved? He stirred his stew distractedly, not even noticing when Vanela plonked herself down next to him.

“Hey. Your Royal highness. …Hey. Don’t make me punch you again!”

Jack started as a hand cuffed him up the side of the head. “Ow! Great Fares, you’re violent!”

Vanela folded here arms, her eyes narrow slits. “You were doing it again.” When Jack merely looked puzzled, she rolled her hands. “You were over thinking stuff, doi. Stop looking back and start moving forward, remember?”

Jack nodded absently as he rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Good. I don’t need another big dummy to babysit.” She replied, crossing her legs primly.

Jack smiled to himself. Vanela was a very different creature to any girl Jack had met before – for one thing, she was wearing breeches and a tunic, with a scruffy doublet and tarnished, muddy boots. No girl Jack had met would have gone near those boots with a five foot lance. He cleared his throat. “So… who are you guys really, if you aren’t the exiled convicts I’ve heard about? Where did you come from?”

Vanela bristled slightly, then sighed as her shoulders slumped. “I guess you were gonna ask that at some point. Fine.” She swivelled where she sat, crossing her legs on the bench they sat on and facing Jack head on. “We’re what’s left of the Seeker’s Guild. When our entire city was burnt down, we went underground. _Literally.”_ She gestured at the walls and carved ceilings around them.

Jack frowned. “Your city burned down? Wait… are you from _Arendelle?”_ he gasped. When Vanela nodded, Jack gaped at her. “B-but that happened _years ago._ Before I was even born! _How old are you?!”_

“What kind of guy asks a lady that?!” Vanela snapped. But she stopped when she saw the earnest look in Jack’s face. “Fine.” She relented. “I’m twenty-two.”

Jack gaped at her. “But you’re _tiny!”_

“Yeah, and Ralf’s huge. What’s your point?”

Jack paused at that. “How old is Ralf then?”

Vanela shrugged. “Dunno, never asked. Younger than Felyx anyway.”

At that, Jack’s doe-eyes bugged out. “You’re serious?”

Vanela snorted. “Yeah. It’s a running joke. No matter how big he gets, Ralfy will always be Felyx’s widdle brother.”

“I heard that, Pipsqueak.”

A meaty hand landed on Vanela’s head and mussed her black hair, leaving what was an already messy ponytail as what could easily be mistaken as a crow’s nest. Vanela bapped Ralf’s hand away, glaring. Ralf just chuckled, setting himself down next to her. “Calhan has managed to find you a bed for the night, Your highness, so no more dirt baths for you today.”

Jack gave him a weak smile. “Thanks. And just call me Jack.”

Ralf nodded. “Fine, Jack it is. Do you want to head out to the barracks now, or…?”

“I wanted to know what you’re all doing here, if I’m honest.” Jack mumbled. Vanela and Ralf exchanged a look and shrugged.

“Well okay…” Ralf sighed, getting to his feet. “If you’re sure you aren’t too tired, we can give you the tour.”

Jack nodded, pulling himself from the bench and abandoning all pretences of being interested in eating. “I’d like that.”

In honest truth, there was a good reason Jack was avoiding sleep like a plague. He’d started the day as a colourful dream, and it had ended as a waking nightmare. Was it so bad that he didn’t want to lie alone in the dark just yet?

With that thought, Jack followed Vanela and Ralf down the numerous tunnels and listened to their commentary – which usually ended up with them arguing over something. Most of the rooms were storage space or common rooms. The training room intrigued Jack a lot, especially when he got an eyeful of their sword rack. There was one lady in there – tall, amazon-like with blonde hair cut short like a man’s – but one look at her, and Vanela just shook her head.

“I wouldn’t go bothering her right now. You coming here has put her in a bad mood.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at that. “Why would I put her in a bad mood?”

Vanela shuffled her feet. Ralf cleared his throat. “It’s not you, exactly – more like whatever was following you might still, er, be following you…”

Jack stared at him for a moment. “Well, that’s put my mind right at ease.”

“Yours and ours both, kid.” Ralf replied tiredly, leading them off to the next room.

This is where things got interesting.

The entire room was dimly lit with strange, coloured lights. They flickered sometimes, but not like torches. These lights were glass and bulbous. Jack couldn’t take his eyes off them. Until he saw the rest of the room.

There were piles of strange objects, just like out in the plaza, only these looked like they had been cleaned up a little. Some were long and flat, other boxy and fat. Some could fit in the palm of your hand, whilst others needed two people to pick them up. Some had a lid you could flip open, and some had sleek glass panels that had been unfortunately shattered in time.

Most of these strange objects had someone working on them, twiddling with metal wires and strange green rectangles that were full of metallic veins. Jack almost jumped out of his skin when Vanela spoke, he’d been so absorbed.

“They’re all relics from the old world. Back before the Five Phoenixes gave our world new life. We know from doing all our sweeps and digs that there was an advanced society that lived on this world before us, before the great floods killed them. The proof is in all this weird technology we keep finding.” She gestured at the people and the small tools they were using to pry the various objects open.

Ralf nodded. “This is Felyx’s team: Reconstruction. They’re the think-tank, the dweebs that are stuck on trying to get this old junk to work again, and figure out what they do.” He pointed at the lights that hung from wires all around the room. “They figured out that if you link those glass things to the big box that zaps you if you get too close, the glass orbs glow.” He grinned. “Now Felyx just needs to figure out the _hows and whys.”_

Jack’s face scrunched up, confused. “You mean to say, it isn’t magic?”

Vanela shook her head. “It’s not the kind of magic we know. It’s too precise for that. It doesn’t feel like anything the phoenixes created… it’s like, the people of the old world didn’t have magic, so they made their own.”

“No magic?” Jack whispered, both eyebrows getting lost somewhere above his hairline. “No blessings, or fae folk, or Phoenixes or Moon Dragon?”

Vanela nodded sadly. “Yeah. Sometimes I wonder how lonely it must’ve been, to not have the Moon Dragon to guide you to your one. But… the people of the south are the same, aren’t they?” She gave him a pitying look.

At that, Jack shook his head. “Most of them are. My Dad is from Arendelle, so I’m a bit of a special case. Though sometimes I wish the Moon Dragon would leave off on the ‘guiding’ once in a while.”

Vanela blinked. “Whoa. Wait. Back up. First; Your Dad’s from Arendelle? What’s his name? Second; _You have a kindred?_ What’s their name?! What’re they like?! And why aren’t they here with you? That’s really bad you know. Like, I can hardly ever stand the big lug, but if I was separated from Ralf here for too long I’d probably go nuts, like-”

“Van. Let the guy talk.” Ralf grinned at Jack apologetically.

Jack was stuck looking from Vanela to Ralf and back again. “Hold on. You two are _together?_ But you guys are so different; I mean, you’re _HUGE_ and Vanela’s _tiny_ and-”

“I said I was twenty-two.” Vanela snarked, crossing her arms. “And you should know, the Moon Dragon doesn’t really care what our bodies look like. It’s our souls that bind us together. That, and Ralf’s only a few months older than me, believe it or not.”

Jack nodded dumbly, focusing on not gaping at them. They were possibly the weirdest couple Jack had ever laid eyes on. Vanela smiled up at Ralf, before setting sights back on Jack. “Okay, Jacko. We’ve said our bit, now answer the question; Where’s your kindred? We weren’t lying when we said it’s dangerous to be apart.”

Jack shrugged, turning away and letting his eyes settle on one of the workers, who was struggling to yank off the lid on one of the sleeker boxes. “I don’t know.” He admitted quietly. “We met six years ago. He was part of this slaver’s caravan, which my family and I managed to free him from. I only really spoke to him the following morning. Then he had to go back to the North. I never saw him again.”

He waited for Vanela’s and Ralf’s response without turning around. And waited. Finally, when he peered over his shoulder, he could see the two of them gaping at him. “What?”

“ _Six years?”_ Vanela gasped. Jack shrugged and nodded again. _“_ That’s _horrible._ How did you – why didn’t he – I mean-” She threw her hands up in frustration. “Tell me you have some way of finding him!”

At that, a small smile crept over Jack’s lips. “Actually, I think I do.”  


-:-

  
They had led him back to a modest room, lit by a small lantern and a tiny brazier fire that had a chimney dug out to the surface. They’d settled on the tiny bed with a straw mattress, and Jack had explained the importance of his spyglass, and the sorcerer’s dust in his satchel. They’d both beamed at him, and told him they would speak with him in the morning. Apparently, they had some planning to do.

Which left Jack alone in the tiny, underground bedroom, staring out into the darkness, just like he had feared.

Sighing, Jack pulled off the itchy tunic the Seeker’s Guild had lent him – it felt like it was made from a potato sack, but since his silk one was being washed, it had done its job in a pinch – and pulled back the equally itchy blanket letting himself fall into bed.

At least he had a bed. When the turrets of his palace were crumbling before his eyes this morning, even that small comfort didn’t look promising.

He didn’t dare put the lantern out. Allowing the darkness to swallow him whole was not top of Jack’s to do list right now. Instead, he lay his head down on the slightly damp pillow and watched the shadows flit across the wall as both lantern and fireplace flickered. It wasn’t long before Jack was feeling drowsy, but something in heart was clenching. He was already pre-empting the night terrors waiting for him. There was a coldness wrapping around him, making him short of breath. He squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the cold panic to stop. When he finally snapped his eyes open again, he nearly screamed. But his throat was so tight, he could barely make a sound. All he could do was look on in wide-eyed terror at the strange silhouette now on his bedroom wall. There was a sound of movement behind him, and Jack snapped around in bed to face the fireplace.

Every muscle in Jack’s body tightened. But it wasn’t in fear.

“You aren’t really here, are you?”

 

[1] Ralf (In Nathern) : “Shut up!”

[2] Ralf (In Nathern): “Where have you come from? Who are you?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff hanger guys. My bad.
> 
> I'd just like to point out that I DO NOT ship Vanellope and Ralph canonically. I have very specifically made it quite clear that Van is 22, just pintsized for her age. Canon Vanellope is what, 8? 12? Either way, this is AU for a reason.
> 
> Watch out for the foreshadowing man - I'm always throwing that shit around...


	5. The Earth Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day it will be ages before I add the next chapter.  
> Luckily, today is not that day.
> 
> Musical Muse: Earth Rising by Two Steps from Hell

_Chapter V_

****__ The Earth Rising  
  


When Jack woke up the next morning, he could almost feel the space on the bed next to him cooling. It was stupid, Jack knew that, but a part of him ached and throbbed at the loss of what had clearly been an apparition.

He glanced over at the fireplace and lantern. The lantern flickered lowly, its oil nearly spent, and the fire was reduced to faintly glowing embers. There was no natural light to suggest daybreak. For all Jack knew, it was still only four in the morning. But the darkness and shadows were starting to wrap themselves around him again, in the silence of that empty room. With that, Jack knew it was time to get up.

He found his clothes – the blue ceremonial garb that he’d poked fun at the day before – folded neatly on the desk beside the bed. He pulled them on without much thought, glancing at the bedroom wall behind him, and shaking his head with a bitter grimace. He headed out of his room, down the first tunnel he could find, grabbing his satchel as he went. Vanela and Ralf had told him all routes lead back to the plaza anyway, so it wasn’t like he’d get lost. He just needed to do something other than lie in the dark.

His thoughts were sort of occupying him anyway.

Last night, he’d struggled to breathe for a few moments as he took in the figure before him. They were recognisable enough; tanned skin smothered in freckles, bright green, intense eyes, like a cat’s in the dark. But this was not the boy Jack remembered. This figure was taller, broader in the shoulders, with a firmly set jawline. His hair was longer, brushing his shoulders and falling into his eyes. No longer did his clothes float on him, instead he was wearing a simple white tunic with coarsely woven leggings, and fur-lined boots strapped to his legs with long strips of leather.

The only thing that hadn’t changed was the compass hanging at his neck.

Maybe Jack’s subconscious was just as hopeful that the boy had kept that stupid compass as much as Jack himself was.

Jack wasn’t afraid to admit he’d stared. He’d been shocked initially. Then scared that it was some elaborate trick. Then downright miserable because the vision in front of him _couldn’t be real._ The emptiness in his chest was still there. The innate loneliness. The loss.

“You aren’t real.” Jack spoke again, his voice wavering. The figure stepped forward from the fireplace, shaking its head minutely, it’s eyes wide. Jack released the staggered breath he’d been holding. He could feel the tears welling up from within him. First the siege, then the tunnels, now this?...

“It’s not even full moon!” Jack wailed, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the tears fall. “Why are you haunting me?!”

Again, the soft sound of moving cloth. The soft thud of footfalls. Jack felt weight on his knees – the warmth of firm hands soaking through the fabric of his blanket. He cautiously opened his eyes again, only to find green eyes peering down at him.

The figment of Jack’s imagination opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, confused. Jack watched it try again a couple times, before murmuring “You can’t speak?”  
The boy – well, hardly a _boy_ now, more like _man –_ looked frustrated as he nodded tightly. Jack looked down, twiddling with his sheets before asking again “Why are you here?”

The figure – Fares, how Jack wished he knew his name! – ran a gentle hand through Jack’s dark hair, letting it rest against Jack’s cheek. Jack knew it wasn’t real, that the kiss of warmth was just really vivid imagination, but gods of the realms help him if he didn’t lean into that touch. A shuddering breath went through him, and Jack fought back a sob. He stayed like that for a while, letting his dream-lover run his hands over Jack’s face and arms.

Then the man stood again, and walked over to the fireplace. He picked out a charred piece of wood from the brazier, and slowly wrote in shaking script upon the bedroom walls _‘Don’t fear the shadows in your dreams. I’m here.’_

With that, he put down the charcoal and turned to Jack again, walking over slowly, as if approaching a spooked horse. Jack blinked up at him as the green-eyed man knelt at Jack’s bedside and took Jack’s hands in his, rubbing soothing circles into the backs of them. The smile he offered was gentle, if a little watery. ‘ _Go to sleep.’_ He mouthed.

Jack wondered again if the man couldn’t speak purely because he was a figment of Jack’s imagination, and Jack could no longer remember the sound of his voice. The thought was sobering, but he nodded his assent all the same.

He fallen asleep wrapped in the protective arms of a dream-lover. It wasn’t as good as the real thing. It would never be. But – after the day Jack had - it was better than nothing.

And it hadn’t been real. Jack had checked. The wall had been blank in the morning.

_Delirious._ Jack thought to himself angrily. It was like his mind was playing tricks on him. Taunting him with what he should have, but doesn’t. It wasn’t _fair._

He’d made his way to the brightly lit plaza, kicking away the rocks beneath his feet, before slumping back down onto the same carved step as yesterday. He wasn’t going to risk getting lost in the tunnels just to find the mess hall.

That was where Vanela and Ralf found him, glaring at the dusty floor as if it had mortally offended him. They exchanged a look, before Vanela bounced over to him. “Am I going to have to-”

“No. Please don’t punch me again, I’m not moping.” Jack growled, eyes still fixed to the floor.

Vanela bit her lip. “Well… whatever the floor did to you, I’m sure it’s very sorry.”

Jack rolled his eyes, getting up from his perch. “It’s not the floor. I just… It was an interesting night’s sleep, is all.”

Vanela gave him a sympathetic look. “Bad dreams?”

Jack shook his head. “No. That’s just it. There weren’t any bad dreams. Instead, I saw _him.”_

“That’s great, isn’t it?” Vanela chirped. “Much better than any old nightmare!”

Jack shook his head. “It was weird. He looked nothing like I remember him, and he couldn’t even talk…”

Vanela spun on her heel, giving Ralf a significant look. Ralf crossed his arms, shrugging. She glowered at him, and he sighed, turning to address Jack.

“You don’t need to worry, Jack. It’s just the Magic of the North – you went through some pretty scary stuff yesterday, so the Moon Dragon blessed you with a brief empathic link to your kindred. Pretty basic stuff, really.”

Jack stared at him, bewildered.

“Seriously.” Ralf continued. “I’ve heard about it before. This one time, Felyx and Calhan got separated during a really bad trog raid. The roof caved in, people were scared, trogs were everywhere… Next morning, Felyx is telling me that we need to head up the east tunnels. Y’know, totally abandoned tunnels. I didn’t see the point. But when we got there, Calhan was waiting with all the survivors on her side. Turns out they’d planned it all out in this shared dream they’d had. Usually only works if you’re both scared though…”

Jack paled a little at that. Both? What had happened? Why would the boy – _man –_ in the North be scared?

Vanela watched as the colour drained from Jack’s face. “What happened?” she asked quietly. At Jack’s confused (if a little stricken) look, she clarified “In the dream. What did he do in the dream?”

Jack paused, before exhaling slowly. “I don’t know – he touched me? My face, my hands? He told me to go to sleep, and held me whilst I did…?”

Ralf glanced at Vanela, meeting her eyes and nodding. She smiled kindly at Jack. “Is it possible he might have heard about Caruselle?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “But how? Why would that even matter?”

Ralf snorted. “Hasn’t it occurred that he might’ve been scared for _you?”_

Jack opened his mouth to reply – some kind of retort to say that made no sense, that they hadn’t seen each other for six years, why would that matter? – but he stopped, thinking of how his chest had seized merely at the thought of that man – _his kindred –_ being scared. Slowly, Jack let a small smile grace his lips. “It hadn’t.” he admitted quietly.

Vanela beamed at him. “Y’know Jacko, you have a pretty nice smile there, when you use it.”

Jack chuckled, pushing a lock of chestnut hair back behind his ear. “There was a time when you couldn’t stop me smiling. Or pulling pranks.”

“Pranks!” Vanela crowed with glee, grabbing Jack’s hand. “We have to compare notes! C’mon, we’ll talk it over breakfast.” Jack couldn’t do much except laugh at the girl’s antics as she dragged him down the tunnel toward the mess hall, Ralf merely shaking his head tiredly as he followed them.  


-:-

 

As it turns out, that scary lady with the throwing knives last night? That would be Calhan. As in, Felix’s fiancé-head of operations-sole survivor of her family from the ruins of Arendelle-Calhan.

Jack wasn’t sure why, but he’d been roped into the meeting she’d called for all Department Heads. At his left, Vanela sat slumped in her seat, boots kicked up onto the wooden table. On his left, the reddish skinned guy he’d seen Ralf talking to yesterday was primly sat – legs crossed, back straight.

He’d introduced himself as “Satine” earlier, then started chatting to Jack about music and literature. When it became clear that Jack knew nothing of these topics, despite his royal background, the tall, ruddy man simply scoffed “Pah. Heathen.” And ignored Jack for the rest of the meeting. As if Jack was the one who _looked_ like a heathen.

He glanced over at Vanela, who was watching Ralf arguing with Felyx across the table. Sounded like it was an argument about the storage rooms. For once, Jack was pleased that he was an only child. He stifled a yawn, and then yelped as a hand slammed onto the table in front of him. “Oh, I’m sorry Princess, is our existential crisis boring you?”

Jack flailed for a moment, trying to balance himself on his chair again, before facing his confronter indignantly. “I had a poor night’s sleep! I watched my home be destroyed yesterday – give me some slack!”

The blonde amazon sneered down at him. “I did. I didn’t chew you out yesterday for leading those things right to our doorstep. But what’s happened has happened – now you need to put your big boy breeches on, and help us get out of this mess!”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Jack snapped back, getting to his feet. He was still shorter than Calhan, but the firmness under his feet grounded him.

“Tell us what’s coming, for starts. How do we fight this thing? What is the weak spot? Anything!”

“I don’t know!” Jack shouted, his face starting to flush. “When you cut them, they turn to mist, and just reform again! They’re like giants – giant, swirling masses of darkness and fear and anger. I watched them crush homes and crumble turrets. Heck, I watched them kill my closest friend. You can’t stop them! So run!”

He gasped in a breath, and finally sobbed out “That’s my advice. My contribution. _Run.”_

Calhan watched the boy in front of her, speculating eyes narrowed. “So that’s your answer, huh? Give up? Run away?” When Jack didn’t replied, she sighed. “What a joke.” She turned away, shaking her head in disgust.

Jack burned inside, and that burning rose up through his belly and flushed over his entire body as he roared back “ _You think this is a joke?!”_

Calhan blinked at him, before smirking. “You’re angry, huh?”

“Damn right, I’m angry!” Jack spat back. Vanela was tugging at his sleeve in warning, but he just brushed her away.

“What are you angry about, Princess?”

Jack sputtered, before coming back with all the fire he could muster “You, dammit! You call me a joke for running away, like _you know_ what it’s like? You just _assume,_ and judge me! You think I didn’t want to fight? I did! More than anything! But people I cared about _died._ And they died so I could live to fight the better fight. So _how dare you accuse me of being a joke!”_

Calhan face remained stoic as Jack ranted. When he finally stopped his tirade, she raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “You done, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that.” Jack growled.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes I’m done!”

At that, both brows quirked. “Oh really. That’s disappointing.” She rolled her shoulders, walking back to her seat. “Twenty years ago I watched my home – Arendelle – burn to the ground. At first all I wanted to do was cry. But you can’t do that – not when everyone is looking up to you. So, instead, I got angry.” She gave Jack a fierce look. “I got angry, and I fought with every tooth and nail I possessed to find my people a home. A _purpose.”_ She paused. “Imagine how I feel now; the shadows are at my door, and everything I fought for is in peril, _thanks to you.”_

Jack fingers felt numb. A part of him – the part that was still a furious teenager that had just lost everything he cared about – still wanted to fight. The other, more dominant part of Jack wanted to take every angry word he’d just said and stuff them back down his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“ _You’re sorry?_ ” Calhan repeated, rounding on Jack. “I don’t want your ‘sorry’! I never asked for your damn sympathy, and I sure as hell don’t need it. What I want, Princess, is for you to grow up and _think_ for a second. There must be some way to slow these things down – even if it doesn’t kill them. Just something as small as that could save the life of one of my people, and I’ll be damned before I let them suffer any more than they have to.”

Her gaze darkened as she looked Jack straight in the eye. “I’m a leader. My people need me. So I’m going to fight.” _Aren’t you?_

The unasked question hung between them like an elephant in the room. Jack met her gaze steadily, sucking in a deep breath. “The forehead. Right between the eyes. Right before my best friend died, he struck two of them there. It hurt them – I don’t know if it killed them, I didn’t wait around to find out. But in a pinch, it could slow them down.”

Calhan nodded tersely, before turning around and barking orders to the other department heads. Jack had the distinct feeling he’d just been released by a boa constrictor, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. At his right, Vanela was smiling at him. On his left…

Satine was still ignoring him.

_Rude._

-:-  


“So what’s this dust supposed to do, anyway?” Valena asked, poking her finger into the sorcerer’s dust, and coming out coated in what looked like powdered violet crystals. Frowning, she first sniffed, then licked her finger experimentally, before pulling a face and abruptly spitting on the floor. “Dat tasthes disgasthing.”

“You don’t eat it, Pipsqueak!” Ralf yelped, alarmed as he yanked the little pouch of powder from Vanela’s grasp.

“Hey! Ralf, give that back!”

“What kind of idiot tries to eat magic powder?!”

Jack snorted as he watched from his bed, legs crossed, with the spyglass laid out in front of him. As he watched on, Ralf held the pouch clear above his head, whilst Vanela reached for it in a pretty hopeless bid to get it back. Though she did try her best, it had to be said. She was even standing on her tippy-toes.

“Why do you even want it, anyway?”

“I wanna know what it does!”

Jack shook his head, chuckling. “Well, if you two would let me have my dust back, we could find out.”

Vanela grinned, giving up her plight with an airy “Alright!” and plonking herself down on the foot of his bed. Ralf rolled his eyes and threw the bag over, before leaning against the bedroom wall and feigning disinterest.

Jack caught the pouch, and took a deep, calming breath before he dipped his hand in, scooping up a handful of the violet powder. He was about to sprinkle it over the spyglass, when Vanela yelled “Wait!”

Jack stopped mid-movement, giving Vanela a look of pure bemusement. “What?”

“Don’t you have to do any weird spells? Or kooky chanting? You know!” she gestured with her hands wildly “Magicky stuff!”

Jack’s lip quirked upward. “‘Magicky stuff’?”

Vanela frowned. “Don’t mock me, sir.”

Jack laughed. “I wouldn’t dare. Anyway – I don’t think it needs any spell… My parents didn’t say so anyway.”

Jack’s gaze was fixed on the purple dust, so he didn’t notice Ralf and Vanela freeze up when he mentioned his parents. Waiting for him to go all sombre again. When neither of them said anything, Jack looked at them both.

He read their faces like picture books. “I’m fine, guys. Calhan is right – I need to keep being proactive, and take steps that will help my people. Not mope around.”

Vanela sighed with relief, before giving him a bright smile. “That’s what I’ve been saying, Jacko. Took you a while to catch on.” She winked.

Jack gave her a meek smile back, before clearing his throat. “Can I use the magic dust now?”

Vanela nodded excitedly. “By all means, Jacko my man, dust away!”

“Oh, so he’s your man now?” Ralf asked from his perch at the wall, quirking an eyebrow. Vanela gave him a snarky look.

“Don’t be such a baby, you know you’re my _main man._ But saying it out loud just sounds _sappy.”_

Jack forced himself to ignore the squabbling twosome, and focused on sprinkling the dust over the spyglass, careful not to scratch the glass lenses with the violet grit. As his hands moved across the spyglass’ surface, the dust seemed to glow before seeping into the very metal of its ornate casing, giving the spyglass a strange, ethereal purple sheen.

When it was entirely covered, Jack lifted the spyglass, inspecting it in the flickering lamplight. Vanela watched as he did so. “That’s it? No sparkles, no clouds of smoke, no chanting mumbo gumbo?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Jack replied.

There were a couple seconds pause, before Vanela spoke again. “Sooo… what happens now?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s supposed to lead me to the object’s maker.”

Vanela raised an eyebrow. “How’s that gonna help?”

Jack smiled fondly, pulling the spyglass to his chest. “Because it was made by him.”

Vanela didn’t say anything to that. She didn’t need to. She exchanged looks with Ralf, before hopping off the bed and moving quietly to the door. “We need to go see Calhan. Y’know – defence talk and all. You coming, Ralf?”

Ralf straightened up and followed Vanela out of the room, stopping only to slap an oversized hand onto Jack’s shoulder. “You need to work out how this thing works. And it looks pretty personal, so we’re giving you space.” He patted Jack with a smile. “You can do it, kid.”

Jack nodded to himself as the two disappeared out into the tunnel-hallway. He ran the pad of his thumb over the warm metal – a familiar gesture from long ago that made his chest ache. He sat in silence, waiting for the spyglass to _do something –_ start glowing, float around the room, start spouting directions in an ominous voice… _anything._

He must’ve sat staring at it for a while, because when he finally sighed and set it aside, his neck felt stiff and his back ached. He twisted his neck this way and that, cracking out the knots in a manner that would have had his mother grimacing and calling him “Un-princely”. The thought made Jack smile grimly.

He picked up the spyglass again, and yelped, dropping it abruptly.  The spyglass tumbled back onto the bed, winking in the light innocently. Jack stared at it, before gingerly picking it up again. He gasped.

The spyglass had grown warmer to the touch. Only slightly, though. It seemed to thrum pleasantly under Jack’s touch, and he shivered. He got up, moving towards the fireplace, only to feel the spyglass begin to cool in his hand. Frowning, he walked towards the door, and warmth flared up again on the spyglass’ surface. Jack’s face broke into a brilliant grin, and with that he yanked the bedroom door open and started toward the plaza at a sprint, heart racing.

Down the corridor, he could see a huge form that could only be Ralf, standing by a shorter person, their faces in silhouette. “Ralf! Vanela! I’ve got it! I know how it works!”

The two figures spun to face Jack, and the prince stopped dead in his tracks. His heart plummeted.

That… was not Ralf.

The creature was _huge –_ a stout, pot-bellied creature so tall his head scraped the tunnel ceiling. Tusks curved up around its squashed snout, protruding from flabby, fat, black lips. Its thick fingers and toes had long, talon-like claws on them that clicked together as it grasped its long, flint-stone spear. It wore nothing but a ragged loincloth, barely held together by pieces of twine. And the _smell._ The creature reeked; like salty, rotting fish and putrid onions blended together with sulphur.

The smaller one next to it sported knotted braids on either side of its grey, pockmarked head, whilst the taller seemed to have shaved all but one strip of hair on his head – that one strip cascading in a greasy mess all the way down to its middle.

Jack took a shaky step back, laughing nervously. “My mistake – not Ralf. I’ll just leave you two be.”

The taller snarled, and started lumbering slowly towards him. Jack balked, and started to speed up in his back-tracking. “No really – my fault. You two go back to doing whatever you were doing.”

The creature roared furiously, picking up pace until it was charging like a bull. Jack spun on his heel, fleeing back the way he came, yelling “Or not!!”

He bypassed his bedroom, hurtling up the corridor with spyglass clutched in one hand, the metal’s temperature fluctuating madly as he went. He could hear the heavy footfall of the mad beast behind him, along with the clanging scrape of its spear as it bashed against the tunnel wall. A stitch was forming at his side, and Jack gasped for air – which was thick and muggy with the pungent stench from behind him.

He careened around a sharp bend, pushing himself to go faster, when the torches that lined the walls of the tunnel suddenly blacked out with a sharp gust of wind. Jack stopped, frozen, as curling in front of him, hidden in shadow apart from its glowing eyes… was one of _them._ The terrible, murderous assailants of Caruselle. The monster seethed in the dark, its eyes fixed on Jack. Jack’s heart was jumping out of his chest by now – flooded on fear and adrenalin. A hoarse roar from behind prompted Jack to look over his shoulder. The pot-bellied beast had stopped too, its spear primed and aimed at the small of Jack’s back.

Jack wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. His palms were sticky with sweat, and his grip was slippery on the spyglass. But he held firm – that one gift was his only lifeline right now.

“Go on then!” he yelled at the beast behind him. “Get it over with! Kill me!”

The beast didn’t move, its black, beady eyes still fixed forward. It snarled softly. That was when Jack realised – it too was scared of the shadow creature.

He turned to face forward again, slowly. The shadow hadn’t moved, its eyes still fixed on Jack. Jack stared back, meeting its gazed defiantly, silently wondering if this is what it felt like to stare death in the face.

It’s eyes flickered – red to gold – before the shadows swarmed around it, engulfing the entire creature. Jack gasped as the air seemed to have all the warmth sucked out of it, and then – suddenly – the great, voracious creature before him had transformed.

It was still a shadow. And it was still terrifying. But now it was no longer large or monstrous.

It was a woman.

The woman was enveloped completely in shadow, her skin shifting like thin whispers of black silk. Her eyes burnt brightly like flames, accusing. She raised her hand, and Jack flinched back, waiting for some blow of agony. But nothing happened – instead, only a screeching, wailing voice filled the air: _“You could have saved me! You could have saved us all! You forsook me, Prince of Caruselle, and now all the Greater Isles pay for it!!”_

Jack’s throat worked as his gut twisted in horror and confusion. This was _his fault? How?_     

“I-I’m sorry!” Jack tried, but the woman only threw her head back and laughed. Or, at least Jack thought it was laughter, despite sounding a lot like sobbing.

“ _Your apologies will pay no debt! But your blood will.”_

She lunged, and Jack hit the floor, his body curling inward with arms over his head in some attempt to protect his vitals. He clenched his jaw, waiting for the pain again, only to hear an unmistakable _fwip!_ And an even more unmistakable voice yell “MOVE IT, PRINCESS!”

Jack’s head shot up, just in time to see the shadow woman flailing around in agony on the floor before him, a crossbow bolt buried straight between her eyes. Behind him, the pot-bellied creature was conked out, a bloodied welt on the side of its head. And behind it…

Ralf, Vanela and Calhan. Calhan reloaded her crossbow with a finesse that spoke years of experience, and Ralf was wiping blood off the bludgeon he held in one hand. Vanela rushed forward, her eyes darting over Jack as her hands patted over his body wildly. “Are you hurt? Did it get you? Are you bleeding? Why aren’t you answering me? Are you in shock? Are yo-”

“Vanela, I’m fine!” Jack choked out, getting to his feet shakily. He gave the writhing woman one last glance, before facing the others – and the giant ugly – once again. He pointed at the pot-bellied brute. “What is that?”

“Trog.” Calhan replied with an air of disinterest. “Boulder class. We found a Springer class down the way – probably his team-mate. We need to keep moving.”

Jack nodded numbly. Valena put her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed stubbornly. “I’ll meet you at the rendezvous. First I’ll get Jack to the Lakeside exit.”

Ralf glared at her. “Vanela…” he growled.

“I’ll take the cart. You won’t know I’m gone – I’ll be back lickedy-split.” She snapped her fingers.

“Vanela.” Ralf growled in warning again, but Calhan raised her hand to silence him.

“Pint-size has a point.” Calhan said. “Princess here has his own mission to carry out, after all.” She gave Jack a level look. “Did you figure how to use that dust?”

Jack’s grip on his spyglass tightened as his face set in determination. “Yes.”

Calhan nodded and turned to Valena. “You know what you are doing.”

“Doi.” Valena replied with a smirk. Calhan raised an eyebrow at that, but she seemed satisfied. “Good. Then I wish you luck.”

“Cal!” Ralf protested. Cal turned on him, looking stern. “They know their job, Filiby. Now you do yours!”

Another growl rumbled from Ralf’s throat, but he finally relented. He reached out and pulled Vanela into his arms. “You better come back in one piece, Pipsqueak.”

“I better come back to you being in one piece, you big Lug.” She murmured into his shirt. They pulled back, and Ralf pressed a kiss to the small girl’s forehead, before following Calhan back up the corridor towards the plaza.

“C’mon.” Vanela muttered, grabbing Jack wrist and hauling him down the tunnel. They sidestepped the woman, who groaned and twitched as Jack passed her. Jack let Vanela pull him along; his eyes were still fixed on the limp shadow creature sprawled upon the floor – a deadbolt embedded in her forehead.

As his eyes met hers, she hissed and clawed at him weakly. He shied away from her reach, gripping the spyglass to steady himself. Even as they made their way down the corridor, Jack could still feel her accusing eyes burning into his back.  


-:-  


“…I’m not getting in that.”

Vanela rolled her eyes. “Jack, you wound me. This is completely safe – don’t you trust me?”

Jack eyeballed her, then glanced at the rickety cart in front of him, then at her again. “Frankly? No.”

She pouted. “Why not?”

“I’ve known you two days!” Jack exclaimed, waving his free arm in the air. At that, Vanela frowned.

“Okay, listen to me. Your choices are pretty slim at the moment – but here they are: you can stay here and hope that you don’t get killed, you can go back to Caruselle and hope you don’t get killed, or you can get your butt in this cart and at least get to Mirror Lake.”

“And hope I don’t get killed.” Jack added grimly.

Vanela punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be such a baby. Now move it – in case you forgot, we have trogs on our tails!”

Jack sucked in a deep breath and climbed into the cart. Vanela did a quick check of the reins and tack that held the stocky cart pony in place. It nuzzled at her hands, and she smiled sadly. “Sorry Taffeta – no sugar beet today. But get us through this, and you can have as much as you like.”

The horse snorted and shook its mane wildly. It pawed at the dusty earth beneath its hooves impatiently, as if accepting the challenge. Jack, from his tentative seat on the cart, laughed at the little horse’s antics. It all seemed surreal, given the circumstances.

“Alright!” Vanela yelled, throwing herself into the driver’s seat. “Better hold on, your Highness, we aren’t known as speed demons of the North for nothing!”

Jack swore he left his stomach somewhere behind him as the cart lurched to life at a break-neck speed. He yelled as Vanela whooped, the torch-lined walls blurring past them in a blur of light and dark. He clung to the cart’s sides as it skidded left and right around corkscrew corners, his knuckles white on the splintered wood. The wind was whistling through his hair and beating at his face with turbine force – for the life of him, he could not quite understand why Vanela was enjoying this. _Especially_ when they could barely see where they were going.

It was at that point Jack realised exactly how dark it had become.

Like a cold stone had dropped into his stomach, he stiffened, then peered over the back of the cart. And groaned.

Spider-like tendrils of shadow were shooting out behind them, like grasping fingers. Furious eyes scorched out of the dark, their intent murderous. And they were gaining.

“Van, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but can you go any faster?”

Vanela’s lips set in a tight line, her brow deepening. “I can damn well try.” She growled, spurring Taffeta on with a sharp “Hyaa!”

The cart lurched again, the turns in the tunnel even more perilous, the wind even more brutal. Jack bit down on chapped lips as he braced himself, the cart slamming into the tunnel walls as it tried to keep up with the horse pulling it.

Still the shadows got closer. Jack could hear their screeching.

“Van…” Jack ground out.

“I know! I know! I’m trying!” she yelled.

Jack balked as he felt heat at the back of his neck. He didn’t dare look behind him, but how could they be so close? The heat suddenly turned ice cold as he felt a piercing pain slice across his shoulders. He gasped, grabbing at his left shoulder and eyes widening when his hand came away smeared with blood.

“VAN!”

“On it!”

The cart swerved, grounded precariously by only one wheel as it shot down a sudden turning, seeming to take the shadows by surprise. Then – suddenly – they were in the open.

Jack blinked blearily as daylight assaulted him, his eyes adjusting to see exactly where they were. And gasped.

The woodland was staggered on great, jagged cliffs, climbing higher and higher, until they disappeared beyond the clouds. It was a wall of cliff faces as far as the eye could see, wrapped around a huge lake that from Jack’s vantage point looked exactly like the world’s biggest looking glass.

“Mirror Lake.” He breathed. This was it. This was the last stop before the Northern Wall. His eyes ran across the landscape, darting over the cliffs for some kind of path. Because beyond those cliffs, hidden among the clouds, was his destination. The Archipelago Mountains.

The warmth from his spyglass soaked through his clothes, warming him inside and out. _So close._

His reverie was broken by a shrill whinny from Taffeta, who reared as the earth crumbled under her hooves. The path they were cantering down was a tiny, thin strip of rock carved out by the elements, the sheer drop next to them far enough to make any hardened warrior faint.

Vanela spurred the horse onward, the crumbling path not something to linger on when the shadows still chased them from behind.

Jack – now able to actually see what was in the cart with him – started pulling out whatever he could get his hands on and lobbing the debris at the gaining shadows. Rocks, rope, empty lanterns, broken oil canisters – it didn’t do much to hurt them. The shadows would momentarily evaporate into black smoke before reforming and continuing their pursuit. But at least it momentarily slowed them down.

He scrabbled in the back of the cart, yelling “I’m running out of ammo back here!”

Vanela hissed, yanking at the reins before screaming out in agony. Jack’s head whipped around at the sound, only to see her doubled over, gripping her side. “Van? You alright?”

Vanela shook her head furiously. “It’s not me!” she choked out. “It’s Ralf!”

Jack’s heart twisted inside him. His father had told him, years ago, that there was something his people called “The Death Cry”. Moments before death, if a kindred pair were separated, the dying soul mate would see their partner in a hallucination before succumbing to death. The one left behind would only have second-hand pain to tell them of the event.

“No!” Vanela sobbed out, still clutching her side. “No no no no _no NO!”_

Jack could only watch in frozen panic as the girl curled in on herself. The cart was still wildly following the tiny path – a miracle at this point. A fierce howl from above prompted Jack to take action. Stumbling to the front of the cart, he yanked the reins from Vanela, who promptly slumped to the cart’s floor, clutching her stomach and wailing “ _It’s not true. It can’t be true.”_

Jack concentrated on the road, yelling frantically when a large rock hurtled past the cart at a hair’s-breadth. Glancing up, he saw a platoon of trogs on the ledge above him, armed with huge rocks and boulders. He gritted his teeth, egging Taffeta on with a loud cry.

Rocks pelted down from the heavens. Screeching shadows chased from behind. Vanela howled where she lay at the foot of the cart. The spyglass burned where it hung from Jack’s belt.

_“Come on. Come on.”_ Jack pleaded to the heavens, barely keeping to the road as he spun around another sharp corner. Then disaster struck.

A trog, boulder class, stood in the road with a club the size of a tree trunk in his hand. Jack didn’t even have chance to pull Taffeta to a halt. He tugged fruitlessly at the reins, but it was too late. Taffeta reared up at the trog, which simply roared, swinging his club and hitting the poor horse firmly in the side, sending her clear of the cliff side. And with her – Jack and Vanela too.

Jack screamed as they hurtled towards the bottomless drop below them, his fingers grasping at the spyglass which hummed beneath his fingertips. He squeezed his eyes shut, and sent up a final prayer:

_Forgive me._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No animals were harmed in the making of this story. ._.
> 
> Technically not so much of a cliffhanger as it is a cliff-FALLER...   
> But hey - 7000 words. Long chapter is long.
> 
> Now SERIOUSLY GUYS I NEED A BETA READER!! I like to update fast, so I need someone who can read this, correct my spelling if needed, tell me I'm not spewing crap and get it back to me with speeeeeed. Applicants only need send me an ask on my tumblr - saphrose.tumblr.com
> 
> Also a huge thank you for all your positive comments and feedback. It's like fuel to my go-kart of writing madness. I read them and squeal like a little girl, I kid you not.


	6. Mirror Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freaking did it, Kit. I ALWAYS keep my promises.

_Chapter VI_

**_ Mirror Lake _ **

 

The first thing Jack registered when he woke up was that he was – in fact – not dead.

That was good.

The second was that every bone in his body seemed to scream in protest with every breath he took.

Not so good.

Jack groaned, shifting under the scratchy fabric that covered him. He could hear someone shout “Meta es wora!”

At that, Jack’s eyes snapped open.

He recognised that language.

That was _Mûnthan._

He groaned as he tried to sit up, only to be firmly set back down by a gentle hand. “Shh…” whispered a soft voice. “You are safe now.”

Jack peered up blearily. He couldn’t make much out in the dim light, except the bright eyes above him. He reached out shakily, his fingers trembling as he touched the figure’s hand. The figure took it gently. “You had us all worry.” The voice mused softly. “Don’t worry – the healer is coming.”

As Jack’s vision cleared, so did his clarity. He was in a house. Or at least, what constituted as a house – it was more like a homey, circular hut. A small fire crackled in the fireplace, where hung a small pot that rattled and bubbled merrily. Herbs hung from strings that zig-zagged across the ceiling, and furs covered most of the walls.  
And the figure above him was a woman.

Jack blinked up at her, before whispering softly in a cracked voiced “Where am I?”

Each word made him wince, his chest aching horribly. There must have been at least three cracked ribs. The woman above him hummed, picking up a soft cloth and dabbing his face gently. “You’re in the Mirror Valley. You fell from your horse on one of the cliff paths.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry, the poor creature didn’t make it.”

Jack stared up at her. Then he tried to speak again. “What about my friend, Vanela?”

“Friend?” the woman asked, her eyebrows crinkling in confusion.

“My friend.” Jack repeated. “Small woman. Twenty-two, acts fourteen, looks twelve.”

The woman shook her head. “There was no girl with you.”

Jack felt queasy. He wanted to cry, and scream and rage, and then cry some more. The woman must have seen the pain on his face – the emotional and physical – because she put down the cloth, and lifted a cup to his lips. The drink tasted bitter, and Jack almost spat it out again… except his jaw was bruised, and it hurt more to spit that to swallow.

“What..?” Jack gasped, but the woman hushed him again.

“You need rest. This is nectar of dreams, from the poppy. It will ease the pain.”

Jack could already feel the effects – numbness in his fingers, and drowsiness in his head. “I heard Mûnthan…” he murmured. The woman stroked his brow gently.

“You were probably dreaming.”

-:-

When Jack next woke up, it was to the sound of children jabbering excitedly. He blinked his eyes open slowly, only to find the dark hut had now been lit with candles. And he was alone.

He tried moving his body, testing the waters, only to find his body pleasantly numb. He sat up slowly, to avoid any wave of vertigo, and slowly spun himself to rest his feet upon the cool, earthy floor. His feet were bare, he realised, along with his torso. His breeches, thankfully, had been left untouched. He glanced around to find his blue tunic draped over a chair, and tugged it over his head – carefully avoiding the bandages wrapped generously around his chest.

Just as he was puttering out of the hut, a busy-looking lady with frizzy white hair almost trampled him whilst coming in. She whirled around at the sight of him up, then crowed “Praise d’Granora, he lives!” then frowned. “What possessed you to get dressed? You better not have messed up my bandaging!”

Jack shook his head rapidly. “No ma’am, I swear!”

She sniffed, wiping her hands on her long, tawny skirt. “Just as well. Otherwise you’d be crawling around in agony, and I’d be here laughing at you. Do you know how long it takes to make feelless ointment? Three days!”

Jack screwed up his face. “Feelless ointment?”

She tapped her own chest, then pointed at him. “It’ll take a couple weeks for those ribs to heal up. Til then you’ll need new bandages and an extra slathering of ointment every six hours.”

Frowning, Jack plucked at the neck of his tunic, thrusting a hand down to peel back one of the numerous bandages, and sniffed. And gagged.

“What is that stuff?! That’s nearly as bad as the trogs!”

“Never you mind!” the woman snapped, yanking the prince around until his hands were back where she could see them again. “And stop playing with those bandages! You’re like a child!”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but the whirlwind old lady had already left. He stared after her, dumbstruck, for about two minutes, before she popped her head through the door again and yelled “Well? You coming, boy?”

Jack nodded dumbly, following the woman out of the hut and to what looked like a village square. Huts dotted the meadow the village was in, just close enough to the lake’s edge for convenience, but far enough to avoid a flooded hut. The ‘square’ was little more than a clearing, lit by a huge bonfire and surrounded by felled logs, where sat what looked like most of the village.

The babble of voices died as Jack approached. He stood awkwardly at the mouth of the gathering, glancing from one side to the other. Then came a bright voice, saying “Hey! You woke up!”

Jack’s eyes followed the sound, only to fall on a small boy. He was surrounded by other village children, cross-legged by the hearth, the firelight dappled across his freckled cheeks. The sight made Jack’s breath hitch, but he composed himself. Thankfully, the boy’s brown eyes echoed his own. Fares forbid, had they been green, Jack may have been facing a meltdown.

The boy gave Jack a toothy grin. Jack returned it cautiously. He’d always been better with children anyway. “May I sit with you?”

The boy nodded, shooing his friends to make space beside him. Jack hunkered down next to the boy and his friends, leaning against one of the huge tree trunks. He curled in on himself, drawing his knees into him and wrapping his arms around them. It was strange, something told him the action should be causing him great pain, but he couldn’t feel a thing. _That ointment may stink, but it does the job._

“Can you keep a secret?” Jack whispered. The boy’s eyes widened as he nodded. Jack leaned over and, with a conspirator’s grin, whispered “I have _no idea_ what’s going on.”

The boy giggled as the chatter began to rise around them again. “Silly. Nana May is going to tell us stories, like she always does. I hope it’s the one with the three dragons.”

The girl next to him shook her head. “No, the one about the Moon Dragon and the Blue Phoenix is the best one.”

“Bleh.” Said another boy. “You girls and your love stories. Dragons any day!”

“The Moon Dragon _is a dragon,_ Claude.” The girl replied, rolling her eyes. “Moon _Dragon?”_

“Yeah, but she’s just a lovey-dovey girl really.”

“Don’t go saying that!” said the first boy. “My mother says she chooses everyone’s Sel’a’s, and making her mad is not a good thing!”

Jack frowned. “Sel’a’s?”

The boy nodded brightly. “Yeah. Your Sel’a is the person you are connected to, body and soul. They are the perfect complement to you – your best friend, your soul mate-”

“Your worst enemy.” One of the boys said darkly. The boy with brown eyes gave him an unimpressed look. “Well, it’s true!” the boy argued.

“Yeah, but that never happens.” The freckled boy reassured Jack. Jack however was still puzzled. “But what does it mean?”

He shrugged. “Well, _Sel_ is the moon, so I guess it means “the moon.” Like – that person is your own version of the moon dragon to you. Your beloved. Everything.”

Jack went very quiet at that. Until one of the group grumbled “Urgh. Gross, Jaime.”

The boy with brown eyes and spookily familiar freckles blushed. “It’s true!”

At that point, Jack and the children heard a sharp shushing noise directed at them, and when they looked back at the fire, the old lady with frizzy hair was stood before it, smiling at them in good humour.

“If the children have finished their important discussion-” she winked at them, and the children giggled nervously “then we will begin.”

It was a story Jack had never heard before – about the Yellow Phoenix, Charis, painting the night sky with a thousand colours. It sounded beautiful, despite Jack never witnessing it.  
The night was raucous and warm, and Jack was welcomed with open arms, and an instant favourite with the children, as always. But despite the easiness and care he was offered, Jack couldn’t break away from the niggling fears at the back of his mind. What happened to Vanela? Were the shadows still following him? And even more pressing – _what had happened to his spyglass?_

  
-:-

  
As it was, Jack found ways to keep himself busy, despite being stuck at the lakeside village. He was taught by old man Alywas to weave nets for the hunters, and prepare various, strange vegetables that the locals would yank from the earth. Nana May even had him sewing at one point – although very poorly – as her granddaughter Aoipa was getting married to ‘a handsome young fellow in the village’, and being the town healer had kept her too busy to finish the girl’s gown.

 However, he was not allowed to leave the village, even with an escort. Nana May had made it very clear that Jack wasn’t to go off on any ‘silly adventures’ until his chest had healed up. Jack wasn’t about to argue – he’d avoided looking at himself recently, but from what he had glimpsed whilst Nana May did his bi-daily bandaging, his skin was barely human-looking any more, mottled with blues, blacks, purples and yellows.

Jack got the feeling it wasn’t just his wellbeing the villagers were worried about. To his face, everyone seemed happy and cheerful. But when they thought he couldn’t see, Jack would notice the lingering fear in their eyes as they looked toward the mountains. He noticed the meagre food supplies, the way supper was rationed and clothes – whilst practical – were far from luxurious. Still, it was a sign of the village’s charitable nature that they kept Jack, and what they had, they shared.

Even so, it was a little bit annoying that every time he ventured near the forest edge, he’d be scolded by one of the adults, or dragged back to the lakeside by the children to play.

Which meant he couldn’t look for his spyglass.

Every day that he went without it, the dream of finding the boy from the North seemed to grow more and more distant. Jack feigned a smile in the waking hours, but alone in bed at night he was becoming more and more desolate. He’d pray to any deity he could that he’d find the boy in his dreams again, that he could ask where to find him.

Jack grew more and more frustrated with himself, and was almost contemplating hurting himself on the off-chance the boy would find him through Jack’s pain.  
But then, hadn’t Jack already faced death enough? The choke-hold of that shadow in Caruselle? Falling from a cliff? If the death cry was going to call the boy, wouldn’t he already be here?

Which brought Jack back to the idea of being abandoned again.

What if the boy was ignoring him? What if the shared dream they’d had wasn’t real – it was only Jack’s dream and Jack’s alone? It only made Jack’s desolation worse. He’d smile sadly at the thought of what Vanela would say if she could see him now. If Vanela was even alive.

Jack sighed. He’d found himself a small, isolated perch by the lakeside; an outcropping rock that overlooked the lake’s enchanted surface and out to the mountains beyond. Sometimes he thought about walking across the lake, regardless of what the valley-folk said, and continuing his search. But then he’d register the sheer size of the mountains and snort self-deprecatingly.

He stared out, watching the fish swimming under the thick sheet of never-melting ice. The children – well, Jaime – had told him that Mirror Lake had been enchanted years ago by the Moon Dragon. It was a test – only one could walk across the ice without breaking it and falling in. That person would survive the harshest light and darkest night, and would be reborn as the blue phoenix himself.

Of course – it was all just stories.

Regardless though, no one ever ventured out onto the lake’s surface.

Jack bit his lip again, sighing as he threw himself back onto the rock, wincing when the harsh stone connected with his still tender shoulders. He stared up at the clouds listlessly. The situation was just becoming more and more _hopeless._

If he listened hard enough, he could hear the dragons nesting in the mountains.

The sound made him shiver, mostly because it was just a tantalising reminder of _how close_ he was. And yet – so far…

The peace was broken abruptly when he heard the children’s laughter and yelling getting closer and closer. He sat up frowning, only to practically stop breathing when he saw what glinted in Jaime’s hand.

“Where did you find it, Jaime?”

“It’s so beautiful!”

“Can I touch it Jaime?”

“Wow! It’s so warm!”

Jaime lifted the spyglass to his eye, gazing out across the lake with a broad grin on his face. “With this, I can see those damn Besikians coming from miles away! We’d give everyone a fair warning! Imagine the look on that chief’s face!”

Jack hurried to his feet, running swiftly to Jaime’s side. “Where did you find that, Jaime?”

Jaime beamed up at Jack, and presented the object in his palm for Jack to inspect. And it was – indeed – Jack’s spyglass. A little battered, worse for wear, but still – the spyglass. Jack took a deep breath and brushed his fingers against the metal. _Yes –_ the enchantment upon it still worked too.

Jack had been so engrossed, he’d barely heard Jaime’s jabbering tale of how he found the beloved spyglass in the first place. “…hunting for wild geese, you see, and my Pa told me the best thing to do was crouch low in the dirt, which is really gross, but it does work! Anyway, when I crouched down I saw something shining in the mud – so I picked it up and took it home, washed it all up and here it is! Good as new – sort of. And now it’s mine.” He finished cheerfully.

Jack gulped, kneeling to Jaime’s level. This… was going to be difficult. “Jaime… you know, in order for you to find it, someone _lost_ that spyglass in the first place.”

“I know.” Jaime nodded. “But finders keepers, right?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Sometimes it doesn’t work like that. That spyglass looks very special, doesn’t it? It must mean a lot to someone.”

Jaime looked at the spyglass, unsure. “I suppose.”

Jack nodded. “The right thing would be to give it back to whoever lost it.”

Jaime frowned. “But I don’t know who that is! How am I supposed to do that?!”

Jack bit the inside of his mouth, before sighing. “Can I show you something, Jaime? See the carvings on the rim? What do they say?” Jaime opened his mouth, but Jack smiled and said “Don’t tell me, let me guess: _Mata sel a’ra sora d’firé, Vesno Mata vuw’ar met. Vesa met, lura, selana met - Meta mat firé, sel’a vesa couyr.”_

Jaime eyes widened as he read the inscription exactly as Jack recited it. He glanced up at Jack, then mumbled “This was a gift to you, wasn’t it?”

Jack frowned. “How do you know that?”

Jaime shrugged. “The poem. It’s an old Mûnthan poem about the importance of your Sel’a.”

Jack blinked at Jaime in surprise. “You speak Mûnthan?”

“Most of us do. It’s kind of necessary, especially since the Besikians found us…” he trailed away sadly. Then he perked up a little, giving Jack a wry smile. “Would you like me to tell you what it says?”

To say Jack was sorely tempted would be an understatement. The number of times he’d badgered his father for the translation couldn’t be counted on his fingers and toes, but as Jaime stood with the spyglass in his hands, the offer staring him in the face, Jack felt a sense of _wrongness_ settle in his stomach. He’d waited six years, what was a while longer?

“No.” he replied, smiling at Jaime kindly. “But thank you for offering.”

Jaime pouted. “Why not?”

Jack gestured over to the mountains. “My father carved those words into the spyglass, telling me one day I could ask my kindred for the translation.”

Jaime tilted his head, considering that, before nodding and smiling up at Jack. “I can understand that.” And with that, he offered up the spyglass. Jack gave Jaime a grateful look, reaching out and taking it. He sighed as familiar warmth covered his palm, the heat itself like a reassurance. Everything was going to be alright again.

Or not, as fate would have it.

Because, of course, at that particular moment, the yelling and screaming began. It started with one voice from the village, then another, then another. Pippa, one of Jaime’s friends, yelled out in horror, crying “Look! _Look!!”_ pointing over across the lake.

For about a week, Jack had known peace. Now? The world was raining fire down on him again. _Literally._ He looked up to see what looked like a rapidly approaching dark cloud from the mountains, but as it got closer, the cloud fragmented and writhed and morphed, until it finally came into focus. It was no cloud – it was an entire horde of _dragons._ Jack had always wondered what dragons looked like – he’d heard so many stories about their majesty – but now? With a whole horde of them bearing down on a village full of screaming people? They were terrifying.

And then came the worst part. Jack almost froze in horror. They had _riders._

The children yanked Jack away from the lake edge as the dragons approached, but it didn’t matter. As they tried to run, the dragons dispersed, suddenly diving in different directions, sending great streams of fire in all directions. The villagers panicked even more, trying to save their houses, but the dragons and their riders stopped them, forcing them away and back toward the riverside.

To Jack’s horror, he could see exactly what was happening. They were being _herded,_ put in a corner with nothing but the perilous lake at their backs. Nowhere to run. No escape.

The villagers huddled together, parents coming and pulling the children to the safety of their arms. Jaime’s mother – the same woman that had nursed Jack when he first woke up – pulled both Jaime and Jack behind her, glaring at the riders with venomous contempt. Or at least, one rider in particular.

He rode a great, black dragon, with spines racing all down its back. Its head was flat, like a pebble, its eyes bulbous as it stared out. Unlike the others, its body seemed to crackle with blue energy – like lightning.

The rider swung himself from his saddle, settling his hands on his hips and addressing the entire communed village.

“Pala terva, nin vuwa, Kyra Ara! Hekka v’al a jojure luma! Vesno es wina…” he gestured to the burning homes. “Hekka cral heku ves jojure!”[1]

“Vema met v’a?” yelled a voice. Glancing to the side, Jack saw that it was Aoipa, Nana May’s fiery granddaughter. At her side, her fiancé, Guy, was desperately trying to hush her. But all she did was throw her frizzy, ginger hair from her face and yell “Meja triska d’oraf, d’shun, d’wuld – Vema pala met v’al?!”[2]

The rider rolled his shoulders. “Vesno esa _krensé._ Hekka v’era vagna vesa vuw’al d’tren…”[3] his eyes landed on Jack, who stiffened under the scrutiny. The rider peered through his helmet, before yelling out “Vaja es men?!”[4]

“Men esa vagnar’a. Men nin es puna va len.”[5] Jaime mother replied shortly. She pulled Jack a little closer, protectively. The rider snorted.

“Men vuw a’selena d’shuna. Vesa men a d’tren!”[6] he crowed, spotting the spyglass in Jack’s hand. As soon as he’d spoken, two other riders swarmed towards Jack, one yanking his arm backwards, the other grabbing the spyglass and twisting it from his grip. Jack yelled out, partially in pain, mostly in fury.

The villagers swarmed around him protectively as the two riders walked away, handing the spyglass to the first rider, who was – more and more apparently – their leader. Despite the villagers holding him back, Jack struggled furiously, his eyes fixed on his spyglass. “You can’t! You can’t have that!” he screamed hoarsely “That’s my only way to find my kindred! _Please!”_

The rider passed it from one hand to the other. “Met pala v’al es?” he murmured. “Vag’a trisk met.”[7]

And he threw it. He threw it so it went up, arching through the air, spinning haplessly, before hitting the ground and skidding without direction, until finally it came to rest.

In the middle of Mirror Lake.

One little girl – a plain, but sweet little thing that for the past week had reminded Jack of Rosie – pulled herself from her mother’s grasp, and yelled “Vema met a’ va?!”[8]

“ _No, Emma!”_  her mother whispered desperately, eyes wide. Emma ignored her. “Esa tren a’men Sel’a!”[9]

The rider laughed loudly. It almost sounded like a ridiculous hooting. “Oioh? Vesa ve’couhl men Sel’a, hmn?”[10] When Emma could not reply, the rider laughed “Men v’al es? Men’a vag vesa trisk es!” he crowed, adding “Vesa krya a d’Ara!”

“Nin!” Emma yelled back, and before anyone could stop her, Emma had charged out and started running across the lake’s icy surface. Jack paled as the girl dashed across. _“What did he say?”_  he whispered to Jaime furiously.

Jaime was just as pale as Jack as he replied “He wanted you to fetch the spyglass yourself. You’d break the ice and die. But Emma said no, and then you saw her rush out…”

Panic filled Jack’s chest, the mental image of an abandoned doll floating to the forefront of his mind. Without another thought, he yanked away from the stunned villagers - all too preoccupied with watching Emma now to stop him – and followed her path, gingerly stepping out onto the ice. He winced when he heard a tell-tale crackle beneath his feet, but otherwise the ice was solid and held his weight. Nodding at this, he focused on the task ahead. One foot in front of the other – just like the tunnels.

He could hear the sounds of the villagers calling out to them both, nearly drowned out by the sound of the dragon riders laughing and jeering. But mostly he kept his ears pricked and ready for any sign that the ice was about to give.

Ahead of him, Emma was still gingerly making her way towards the spyglass. Even from where Jack stood, he could see the shooting white lines of strain in the ice under her feet. “Emma! Stop!” he yelled, surging forward at a faster rate. He could feel the surface starting to shift, and although every part of Jack was screaming at him to stop and turn around, the abandoned doll would flicker back to his mind.

He couldn’t let Emma down like he did Rosie.

Emma stumbled, slipping and landing on her knees. Jack’s heart leapt to his throat as he heard the tell-tale _crack_ pierce the air. Emma stared, wide eyed as around her knees and splayed fingers, thin, spider-web cracks swept outwards, racing out in all direction.

Her head turned back to the direction of the village, and saw Jack bracing himself against the fragmenting ice beneath him. She pressed her lips together, and tentatively began to crawl towards the spyglass, the ice almost groaning under her weight. She winced as water began to bubble up from the cracks, soaking into her thin dress, cold as mid-winter, despite it being mid-summer.

“Emma!” Jack called out behind her. “Please stop! It’s not worth risking your life for!”

“It _is!”_ she screamed back, eyes fixed on the spyglass as she continued to wiggle forward. “That bully killed my father! I won’t let him kill you too!” She spun her head round to him. “Go back, Jack! It won’t take your weight!”

Did Emma not notice the way the ice was starting to dip under her? The water that was pooling around her and spreading out, thinning the ice even more so? Jack wanted to scream at her as he kept moving – one foot in front the other – the fragmented ice shifting underfoot as he went.

Emma was so close now; she stretched forward, lying flat on her stomach as she reached for the spyglass, her fingers brushing the sides. She hissed – why was the metal so hot? It could not be helping the ice! Indeed, the spyglass was now half-submerged in slushy, half-melted water, and as she dove her hand forward she gasped at the strange mixture of burning hot and freezing cold. She gritted her teeth and pulled it out of the slush pool, crying out with triumph as she did. “I’ve got it!” She crowed out victoriously. “I did it!”

Her victory did not last long.

As the shore erupted with cheers – quickly silenced with sharp, Mûnthan words that Jack didn’t understand – the ice beneath Emma seemed to crumble, and gave out underneath her. The cries of euphoria turned to screams of horror. And Jack – before he could register it – was running. The ice splintered beneath his pounding feet, his voice hoarse as he screamed out “Emma!”

He threw himself bodily over the ice, slipping and sliding to where the sunken, icy hole lay. Without a second thought, he dove in after her.

The currents underneath tugged and pulled, like frosty hands trying to punch the air out of his lungs. He swam regardless, searching, his only light being the eerie blue that filtered through the layer of ice above. Finally, there, a few feet below him – Emma was curled in a ball around the spyglass, a tiny stream of bubbles escaping from her lips, which were slowly turning blue.

Jack thanked Fares for those many hours at the Summer Palace, where he and Aster would spend hours at the lake, swimming around and goofing off. If it weren’t for those precious hours, he would not have been able to swim down through the harsh current, scooping Emma into his arms, then kicking furiously to the surface. He frantically scrabbled, searching for the hole they’d fell through whilst fighting a current that only seemed to want to drag him down. His clothes were heavy with water, his fine, blue cloak choking him. His hands and face were entirely numb, and his air supply was dwindling.

Finally, he found the hole and pushed Emma up with all his strength, heaving her onto the unbroken ice. His eyes met her brown ones for a fleeting second, her shaking limbs grasping out toward him weakly, as if to pull him out too.

Then the currents below dragged him back in.

He couldn’t hear the people screaming. He couldn’t hear the wild laughter coming from the riders. He couldn’t hear or see Emma sobbing for him to come back. It was silent under the water, the coldness seeming to seep right into his skin, making his limbs heavy and numb. He looked back up at the hole tiredly, and smiled sadly in resignation. There was no miracle that would save him from this. Ralf wasn’t there to pull him back to his feet. Aster wasn’t there to save his skin. This was it.

Jack couldn’t tell whether he was crying, thankfully.

As oxygen dwindled away, Jack started to see the familiar black dots forming in front of his eyes. Then – another familiar sight. Jack smiled as he saw the boy – _man –_ fade into his vision. It wasn’t like the dream, Jack realised. There were differences that were somehow still familiar.  
Instead of bright green, his eyes were a brilliant, burning blue.

 _It’s the same as that time in Caruselle._ Jack thought absently, his eyes closing. He felt fingers wrap around his shoulders, and he pulled his eyes open again, the icy water now a familiar burn.

 _“Breathe.”_  Came a voice. It was deep. It was reassuring. Jack knew there was no air to be had, that breathing would only fill his lungs and he would drown for sure. But there was no other choice, was there? He stared the man in the eye, silently asking: _Is it okay for me to die?_

The man only gripped Jack’s shoulders harder. _“Breathe.”_

So Jack did as he was bid. He drew in a deep breath, icy water filling his lungs and spreading throughout him. The darkness thickened, and Jack could do nothing but fall deeper and deeper, the sound of roaring in his ears slowly fading away, dying out to nothingness.

  
-:-

  
Cold. That was what registered first. The cold.

Second was the fact that he was moving. He raised his head slowly, eyes peeping open in the sheer light. Why was it so light? He’d died – was this the realm of the Phoenixes? He slowly turned his head to the left. A man in dark armour and darker leather, with a fierce helmet on his head, had Jack’s arm in a deathly grip. On his right, the same. And they were both dragging him.

Finally, he was thrown to the floor, his chin hitting the dirt near some pointy, black boots. The owner of said boots knelt down, pulling Jack’s face upward as he removed his riding helmet.

Through Jack’s bleary eyes, he couldn’t make out much. Only crazed, bloodshot eyes – the left eye marred by a nasty scar, like a dragon had taken a swipe at it and barely missed gouging out the whole thing. The rider smiled widely, putrid breath fanning over Jack’s stinging, icy skin.

“ _Mata nin croya es…”_ he whispered. “Meta es _layla…_ ” **[11]**

Whispers. Jack could hear them now, the ringing in his ears was fading. Not just from the other riders, in their ‘mata vesa’ language, but the villagers too…

“ _Look at him, did you ever see…?”_

_“Look at his hair… his skin’s even paler now…”_

_“Does it mean what I think it means?”_

_“He didn’t cross the lake though.”_

_“I never thought I’d see the day-”_

_“Rose up from the lake like a God!”_

_“Like the Gypsy Queen?”_

_“Yes. Exactly. He’s been chosen.”_

Jack’s head spun. He felt so weak. His eyes slid closed, even as the leader of the riders laughed and let his face go, letting Jack fall limply back into the dirt. “Triska d’Menra. Hekk’al triska men a d’Kes a Vel, vesa men a va mat selfynde.”[12]

“NO!”

Jack stiffened at the voice, shrill and hoarse. _Emma._ His eyes flicked open again, even as he was being dragged up from the floor and bound in ropes. Emma struggled in her mother’s grip, tears streaking down her flushed red face. The rider strode towards her, tutting, and without warning, he backhanded the girl across the face, wrenching her from her mother’s hold and sending her to the floor. Jack wanted to cry out, especially when he could see the blood flowing from her split lip. But the girl only glared at him furiously as he spat out “Eda d’menra, Sherla. Vesa es a mat.”[13] He yanked the spyglass from her, kicking her away as he did so.

Jack never felt so angry and yet so helpless, strung up and thrown across the back of a dragon as its rider terrorised the people that had been so kind to him.

The rider settled himself into the saddle, turning back to pet Jack’s hair softly. “Frenturva, mat miji selena…”[14] he crooned. And with that, he whipped the dragon onward, its great black wings unfurling and taking to the skies, leaving Mirror Valley and its terrorised people behind.

Next to Jack’s stomach, the spyglass burned hotter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slinks away*
> 
> I know you've said you want the translations closer to the text, but here is the deal: The translations are literally your cheat sheet so you know what the Munthans are saying. I want the reader to experience what Jack experiences, and initially HE DOESN'T SPEAK MUNTHAN. Jack is just as confused as the reader is. You are reading in Jack's POV.  
> I've given translators notes anyway, because I know I'd get complaints otherwise. But please respect that I'm writing this in a specific way for a reason. Thank you.
> 
> [1] Rider: “Long time, no see, Death Lake! I expected a warmer welcome but it is alright…we made our own warm welcome!”
> 
> [2] Aoipa: “What do you want? You’ve taken our food, our clothes, our wood supplies – what more do you want?!”
> 
> [3] Rider: “But that was weeks ago! We wanted to come and see if there were any new treasures…”
> 
> [4] Rider: “Who is he?”
> 
> [5] Jaime’s Mother: “He’s just a traveller. He won’t be here long.”
> 
> [6] Rider: “He dresses very prettily… and he has treasure!”
> 
> [7] Rider: “He wants this? He can go get it.”
> 
> [8] Emma: “Why did you do that?!
> 
> [9] Emma: “It was a gift from his kindred!”
> 
> [10] Rider: “Oh? And where is his kindred, hm?...He wants it? He can go get it…and die in the lake!”
> 
> [11] Rider: “I don’t believe it. You’re alive.”
> 
> [12] Rider: “Take him. We’ll take him back to the Sea of Clouds, and he shall be my bride.”
> 
> [13] Rider: “Learn some respect, girl. And this is mine.”
> 
> [14] Rider: “Soon, my little beauty.”
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to all my readers - your comments are fab, and I love chatting to you all.  
> I've had a pretty bad week, so things may get a little dark. I'm trying to avoid the writers block, but just warning that updates might not happen twice a week anymore...  
> Doesn't mean I don't still love you all. :)


	7. Of Moonlight and Mad Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ready for this?

_Chapter VII_

Of Moonlight and Mad Men   
  


Jack’s first glimpses of the Archipelago Mountains were – granted – not as he’d expected. He had imagined having to trek up perilously thin paths to the nearest peak, in hopes there would be a kindly village of some sorts happy to give him direction. Maybe, if Jack was really lucky, they would have given him a ride to the mountain he needed astride one of their dragons. And then he’d finally reunite with the Boy from the North. (Whatever his name was. And yes, maybe Jack planned on a little confrontation too, but putting that aside, seeing a friendly face would be welcome at this point.)

It was all a bit hopeful, in retrospect. And by _a bit,_ Jack may be understating things. It turns out Jack’s captors are the residents of the very mountain Jack would have had to climb. Meaning there would have been no friendly directions. Or generous loaning of a dragon. No, Jack would have probably just ended up in the same situation he was in now.

Although maybe not freezing cold, damp, hogtied and thrown unceremoniously over a dragon’s rump like some prize stag.

Still, Jack’s first glimpse of the Archipelago Mountains did nothing short of take his breath away.

As the riders rose, they soared higher and higher, breaking through a curtain of cloud and bursting forth into what – in Jack’s eyes – looked like an entirely new world.  
Great bulkheads of rock crested what looked like a sea of clouds beneath them, like islands in the sky. The sun glinted off the great mountain-heads, the rays turning the cloud into a mass of gold, pinks and purples. The air was so clear up here – the smell of mineral water, so crisp and cold you could drink it up just by breathing.  
In the distance, Jack could hear the calls of wild dragons – hoots and trills as they wove across the open sky. It looked like heaven, and only served to torment Jack further when he remembered he was here only as a prisoner. The dragon swooped low, curling around one mountain, before dipping headfirst into one of the alcove carved into the mountain’s side.

The dragon stomped its feet as it landed, sending little sparks of lightning shooting up around its toes. The rider leapt of the back of his beast, brushing down his armour as he did. “Puna men va d’ores schurawataros.”[1]

Jack gasped as he was yanked from the back of the dragon and thrown over someone’s shoulder. From there he could see the rider walking away up some narrow corridor carved in the mountain, tucking the spyglass into his belt as he did. Jack tried to yell out, but all that would pass his lips was a sighing groan. His throat still ached from near-drowning, and every breath made him shudder.

The corridor he was carried through seemed endless. For a moment, Jack could pretend he was back in the Seekers Guild. Then he was suddenly thrown off his captor’s shoulder, pulled to his feet, and shoved forward.

A metal, barred gateway swung open, and Jack stumbled to regain his footing. There was barely any light in the dark, cave-like room – the only source of light being a lone torch back along the endless corridor. Jack turned only to see the cage door swing closed again with a _clang,_ the deadbolt slid across and the key turned. His jailer merely sneered at him before striding back up the corridor, never looking back.

Jack glanced around the dark room briefly, before sighing and letting himself slump into one of the cave’s walls. He braced himself for the pain as he curled in upon himself – his ribs still had not healed, after all – and wrapped his arms around his knees. His forehead rested on his kneecaps, as he took in another deep breath. He was caught somewhere between sobbing and screaming with frustration, and his voice had yet to make up its mind. So instead he focused on his breathing… and frowned.

His bandages hadn’t been changed in a while. It should hurt more when he breathed. That, and when he’d curled up he’d expected the pain… but it never came. Disbelieving, Jack fumbled at his tunic, pulling it up to reveal his bandaged torso. He gently pulled at Nana May’s careful work, and gasped.

Not a mark. Not even a scratch. That morning, he’d forced himself to take in the mottled bruising on his chest. But now his skin was flawless, if a little paler than it used to be. He dropped his tunic, letting the fabric fall against his stomach again. Gingerly, he pulled his neckline up, and traced a finger where the shadow had slashed him in its pursuit. Again, this morning it had been and angry, puckered line of healing flesh. Nana May had warned it may scar. Now, it was completely smooth.

Whatever had happened in that lake, it had completely healed him.

“Vaja es met?”[2]

Jack startled, eyes flicking around his prison madly. He wasn’t alone in here? How long had he been watched?! Finally, he spotted something – a booted foot, hidden mostly in the shadows.

“Er…”

The boot moved, and slowly his addresser moved into the light. It was a woman. “Vaja. Es. Met?” she said again, slowly, as if speaking to an infant. Jack shrugged at her, then shook his head.

“I don’t speak Mûnthan.”

The woman tilted her head, the blonde braid her hair was woven into falling further over her shoulder. Jack shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. She looked like a warrior princess, dressed mostly in leather and fur, with a leather strip across her brow, like a crown. A little light filtered through the prison bars, showing her eyes to be piercing blue, like a hawk.

Finally, she moved again, dipping her finger into the silt at their feet and drawing a question mark, followed by an arrow pointing directly at Jack. Puzzled, Jack looked back up at her and pointed at himself. She nodded.

“Jack of Caruselle.” He replied simply. He pointed to himself again. “Jack.”

For a moment, Jack wondered if she had understood him. She seemed to be just staring at him blankly. Then he noticed how wide her eyes had become. Before he even knew it, she had lurched forward, crowding him against the wall, pulling at his face and prodding at his body.

“Vesno d’Relva a Caruselle es d’oros vesa sheris coron. Met as d’oros zapher…vesa sheris selon… _met es d’Selsherla.”_ She whispered, her eyes now almost as wide as the moon. “Met es schura? Vema es d’baren va? Paya met vagna eir?”[3]

“I don’t know what you are saying!” Jack said emphatically – or at least as emphatically as he could with a smooshed face. The girl released him, then, to Jack’s utter bewilderment, gave him a shaky smile. “Mara lurk’ar va met. Men crow’ar mar a lurka va met. Mara imr’ar met es kyra - Hekka com es…”[4]  And then she hugged him.

Well. Jack was confused.

“Um… still don’t know what you are saying. And could you let go? Please?” he wiggled a little to show his discomfort, and she let up. When she saw Jack’s face, she gave him a little distance. “Arave.” She mumbled. “Vesno mara nin croya es. Met es eir!”[5]

When Jack continued to give her a blank look, she sighed. She pulled herself into sitting cross-legged, a look of pure concentration on her face. Jack bit his lip. “Um…”

“Sh.” She hissed. Well, Jack understood that. He settled against the wall silently, waiting for his cell mate to finish whatever she was doing. Finally, she looked up at Jack, meeting him dead in the eye. “Friend.” She said firmly.

Jack, for one, was a little flabbergasted. “What?”

She raised her hand, as if to offer a handshake. “Friend.” She repeated. “Friend of Caruselle. I friend.” When Jack still eyed her dubiously, she rolled her eyes. “Mara esa lorefynd. Mar lyrfynd es met Sel’a – Mara nin schura met! Lorfynd[6]. Friend.”

“Friend.” Jack repeated, holding out his own hand gingerly. With an encouraging smile, the girl took Jack’s hand in her own, and brushed her thumb over the back of his hand. Jack’s breath hitched at the familiar gesture. An offer of true friendship. She was swearing an oath in that one gesture. Jack finally returned her smile, and brushed his own thumb over the back of her hand. “Lorfynd.” He repeated, earning a brilliant smile.

“Tâc! Friend!” she beamed, and then leaned forward to hug him again. This time, Jack didn’t pull away.

After all, right now he could really use a friend. And possibly a hug.

  
-:-

  
It took a little bit of gesture work and a whole lot of dirt drawings, but Jack was slowly getting a picture of where he was now.

The girl he was imprisoned with was called Astrid. She spent a long, frustrating amount of time trying to explain how she managed to get captured, without Jack really understanding a thing. It was only when she lost her patience and started jabbering on about the _Lyrané d’Granora_ that Jack actually understood what she was saying. After, Jack had heard quite a lot about the Lyrané d’Granora – it was his favourite bedtime story as a child, listening with rapt attention as his father told him of heroes and warriors in the north, fighting alongside tremendous beasts in the name of justice and valour, and above all – peace. The Lyrané d’Granora… or, as Jack knew them, the Dragon Knights.

So, Astrid was a dragon knight.

Unfortunately, her dragon was not with her. So no, they couldn’t escape like that. But, as Astrid had explained through crude drawings in the dirt, this was also a good thing. Her dragon had escaped, and would return back to her home without its rider, alerting the other knights that she was in trouble. “Men al vagna.[7]” She promised him.

Jack had smiled and nodded.

Meanwhile, outside the cell Jack could see people bustling about, rolling barrels down past their corridor, ferrying swaths of cloth and carts of food… Astrid and Jack watched on – Jack with growing nerves, and Astrid with narrowed eyes. “Hesa es prenrepa va esa Selfynderen?” she muttered, eyes set on a bowl of flowers that one of the women were taking up the corridor. “Vaja es con Selfynd’al?”[8]

“Esa va mat.”[9]

Both of the cell’s tenants spun at the familiar voice. Astrid’s eyes pinned the man, as if she dearly wished her gaze alone would end him. Jack kept his face carefully neutral.

“Vema met crowa?”[10] Astrid hissed. The man shrugged, smirking.

“Esa mat Selfynderen.”[11]

“Vesa vaja es met selfynd[12]?” Astrid snapped. The man’s eyes crinkled even more and a malicious grin spread over his face. Without a word, his eyes drifted away from her, and landed solidly on Jack.

“Nin!” Astrid spat. “Men es d’Sel’a a mar kirfyndel. Met nin vara men!”[13]

“Crowa mer?” he replied snidely. His smile was cruel, like a slit cut into his face. “Mata vara vema mat evr. Vesa mata evra men.”[14]

Astrid slammed her hands against the bars of their cage, snapping “Mara relva es krya met!”[15]

The man raised an eyebrow – the one not disfigured by his scar – and laughed. “Men es tel.”[16]

With that, he walked away. Astrid had gone red in the face, eyes blazing. Jack approached her slowly, putting a hand on her quaking shoulder. She was shaking, she was so angry.

“What did he say?” Jack asked gently. When she just looked at him blankly, he took her hand and drew a question mark on her palm. The girl stared at her palm for a moment, before sighing and slumping down against the bars.

She pointed out of the cage, in the direction the man had walked. “Nin Friend. Bad. Fyndnic a d’Kirfynd. Nin Friend.”

Jack nodded slowly. Talking to Astrid, he was slowly picking up a few pieces of Mûnthan. ‘Kir’ for example meant ‘home’. ‘Fynd’ meant a person, or an interaction with people, hence ‘Kirfynd’ meant ‘my people’. Fynd was in a lot of words – Lorfynd, Kirfynd, Selfynd… and now, Fyndnic.

“Fyndnic is not friend, yes? Nin lorefynd?” he replied slowly. The girl nodded with a sad smile. “Dagur.” She replied tiredly.

“Dagur? What does that mean?” Jack asked, puzzled. She just looked at him. Jack sighed.

“Vema Dagur?” Jack tried. He knew it was crude – _what Dagur?_ – but at least he was trying. The girl snickered and shook her head.

“Nin vema. _Vaja._ Men es fyndnic.”

_He is enemy._

Jack gulped. “And… what does Dagur want? Vema Dagur evra?”

Astrid gave him another tired look, but this time she didn’t smile. “Meta.”

_You._

-:-

  
It was a few days later – at least it felt like a few days – when a guard came to their cell again. No words were said as he look around and then, without warning, he yanked Jack to his feet by the armpit and dragged him out of the cell, the door slamming closed behind them. He could Astrid yelling behind him, screaming “ _Ve’coul a triska men?! Vema a met eren?! Puna! Jack!” **[17]**_

Her cries went unanswered.

Jack tripped and staggered as he was wrenched down the corridor. It felt like the guard was trying to yank his arm from its socket. “Let me go! Where are we going? Get off of me!”

Still no response. Jack growled and bit his lip then. He was tired of being pulled about. With a harsh yank of his own, he pulled back a fist and then drove it as hard as he could into the guard’s stomach.  
The guard grunted, taken by surprise. He doubled over, releasing Jack’s wrist. Jack didn’t hesitate – with a quick slicing action, he struck the back of the guard’s head with the side of his hand with as much strength as he could muster. The guard fell, out cold.

Jack flew into action, yanking at the circle of keys that hung from the guard’s belt. When it finally came loose, he leapt to his feet and charged back towards the cell.

Astrid was still at the cell door, her head pressed against the bars as she muttered to herself furiously.

“Astrid!” Jack yelled, and her head shot up, eyes widening as Jack approached her at full speed, jamming the keys one by one into the cell door until he found a fit. When the door finally swung open, Astrid leapt out of the cage and flung herself at Jack in a strangling hug.

“Frena!” she hissed, pulling away from him. Her eyes were set, full of fire. With that, she pulled away, and started running back up the corridor. “Frena! Prolla a mar!”[18]

Jack did the only thing he could do at that point. He followed her.

They moved fast in the shadows, hiding from the guards as they swept up and down the dark halls that seemed to fill the inside of the mountain. It was like a labyrinth, and everyone was moving quickly, their faces set with some kind of grim determination. They seemed pretty distracted. The reason why soon came to light.

As they made their way down one corridor, a couple of guards started running down towards them. Astrid stopped, then pulled Jack into a dark alcove, letting the guards pass them harmlessly. With all these guards dashing around, Jack’s first thought was that Dagur knew he had escaped. However, the guards words as they hurried past changed the ball game entirely;

“Watara! D’Lyrané d’Granora es watara d’Kirfyndel! Frena!”[19]

Astrid’s breath hitched, her hand squeezing Jack’s arm. For the first time since they’d been in that cell, Astrid was smiling. If you could call it a smile… it look more like a manic grin, in Jack’s opinion. Either way, it was probably a good thing. “Mara crowa met.” She whispered. “Men es eir.”

_I told you. He’s here._

Jack’s heart leapt and seemed to stick in his throat, stopping his voice completely. He? As in _He?_

Jack didn’t get chance to ask questions. Astrid grabbed a hold of his arm, pulling him back into a sprint as the two of them headed up the corridor. Suddenly, a shout sounded from behind them. Astrid swore and oath, and spun on her heels to face their new adversaries.

“Mera! Mera nin triska d’Selfynd d’Relve Kex!”[20] one guard roared. Astrid snarled, dodging to the side as the guard swung an axe at her, separating her from Jack.

“Men es NIN d’selfynd a met Relve Kex!”[21] she spat, dropping to the floor and spinning her leg outward, kicking the guards legs out from beneath him.

Jack’s head spun. So _that_ was what Dagur wanted. _Selfynd._ Partner. Marriage. Jack’s fists tightened at his side. _Really._ He was SICK of being pulled around. He had one goal – no way in the realms of horror would anyone – even Dagur – stop him.

It was about time he started fighting for it.

The guard was getting up again, but Jack had other ideas. With a swift kick, Jack delivered a harsh blow to the side of the man’s head. The guard howled in pain. Huh, not enough to knock him out. Never mind – try and try again, right? He slammed his hand into the back of the man’s head, forcing his temple against the stone floor. At that, the guard fell silent.

Jack panted, staring down at the man. “ _Did I kill him?”_ he whispered. Astrid knelt at the man’s side, taking his axe, then checking his pulse. She shook her head. “Men es layla.” She murmured. She turned back to Jack, a new light in her eyes.

“Meta esa Wataro.”[22] She mumbled. Jack blushed.

“I can fight. I’m just god-awful with a sword.”

She nodded, as if she could understand him. They both turned, headed towards the main entryway. They could hear in the distance sharp, piercing cries and roars like thunder. The air felt like electricity – or was that just Jack? He could barely feel his fingers again, they were so tingly. Even his head was starting tingle – particularly the backs of his eyes. It was starting to hurt, like a migraine. He gasped as he ran, clutching at his head. What was happening? People were shouting around him. Guards? He had to fight those. He had to help Astrid.

He blinked his eyes open again – when had he closed them? – and tried to focus. Then he saw his hands. And he was hard pressed not to scream.

They were _glowing._ A milky light seemed to emit from his palms, and his fingertips looked like they were laced with frost. He stopped running, shocked, staring at his hands.

“JACK! VEMA MET ERU?!”[23] Astrid screamed.

That brought him back to focus.

A guard had got hold of Astrid, his fingers grappling at her throat in a choke hold. “Mar nin exra…” she gasped. The axe had fallen from her hands, skittering across the floor as Astrid scrabbled at the man’s hands, clawing at them. “Mar nin exra…”

_I can’t breathe._

Jack saw red. Or, more specifically, white. His eyes burned as his hands grew colder. Wind whipped around him like a hurricane, the currents icy and sharp like cutting knives. In a snap reaction, he thrust his hands forward, aimed straight at the guard.

What happened next was truly inexplicable.

A torrent of ice exploded from Jack’s fingertips, shooting out with arrow-like precision in a flurry of speed. The guard gasped as the jet of pure coldness shot through his chest. In a matter of seconds, his skin had faded from its ruddy complexion to a sheer white. His lips turned a vivid dark blue, and his eyes glazed over, the very retinas frosting over and clouding his sight forever. As he fell backward, Astrid was able to wrestle herself from his grip, gasping for air in wheezing breaths. He hit the floor with an unforgiving THUD. Unmoving.

Jack stared at the man, frozen solid, surprised by his own apathy toward the sight. A few weeks ago, he would have crumbled at the idea of killing someone. Now? Not so much.  
He was a little more concerned about the fact that _he just shot ice out of his hands._

He flipped his palms over again and again, staring at them in a mix of awe and fear. How had he done that? Astrid watched him, waiting for him to break down or something. She knew Jack had been through a lot. She knew far more than she let on. She sighed.

“Met krya men.” Astrid muttered.

Jack nodded. “Yep. I did kill him.”

Astrid eyed him for a moment, rubbing circles into her neck. In the space of very little time, Jack’s face had become hard as stone, his brow furrowed and set for battle. She’d seen the tenderness in Jack in the past week. This determination in battle was just another similarity Jack and his kindred shared. Astrid wanted to laugh. What a pair they will make.

She pulled Jack away from the fallen guard, picking up the fallen axe. “Vagna. Hekka vesch vagna frena.”[24]

They kept heading upward. They met a couple more guards along the way, but they were quickly dispatched with a swift blow from Astrid’s axe, or from a fast arrow of ice to the chest. Jack had no idea where this new power was coming from, but using it relieved the pressure in his head. His eyes had thankfully stopped burning.

It was only when they finally saw the mouth of the cave – the exit to the mountainside – that Astrid yanked him harder. “Vagna! Frena! Hekka es niva eiro!”[25]

A hand from the darkness, lashing out and grabbing Jack by the hood of his tattered, blue cloak. Jack yelped, the burning in his eyes welling up at the speed of light. He spun around to face his attacker – only Astrid to tackle him first.

They rolled on the floor for a second, fighting for dominance. Eventually, Astrid pinned the man to the floor, raising the axe above her head with a battle cry. The man threw his hands up in front of him, eyes wide behind his helmet’s visor.

“Puna, Astrid!” yelled a strangled voice. “Es mat!”[26]

Astrid instantly dropped the axe. Her mouth gaped open for a second, then snapped closed. She rolled off the man, hissing “Met crowa es watara?!”[27]

The man got up and brushed himself off. “Sherla lorca[28].” He muttered angrily.

Astrid glared at him. “Eir es d’Relva?”

The man snorted. “Lurka va mer.” He paused. “Vesa Dagur.” He added darkly. Jack stiffened.

_Where is the Prince?_

_Looking for you. And Dagur._

Astrid was saying something to her fellow knight, but Jack was too busy trying to think to pay any attention. Dagur.

Dagur still had his spyglass. Jack could not leave without it. Without a word, he turned and ran back the way they came, headed upward instead of outward. Again, Astrid was yelling at him, telling him to stop. But they wouldn’t catch up with him – Jack was fast even before the lake, but now even the wind seemed to carry him.

When he reached what looked like a banquet hall, he stopped, catching his breath.

The hall was full of steaming food, flagons of wine, and had been completely decked out in flowers and bunting. From the looks of it, the wedding preparations had just been finished when the knights attacked. Jack had escaped by the skin of his teeth.

He searched the room fleetingly – hoping beyond hope…yes! There, on the altar. He hurried up to the decked out altar, covered in silks and fabrics. Two crowns, woven from twigs and flowers, lay innocently on the surface. Who would have thought such fragile, breakable things could easily be as imprisoning as a pair of wrought iron manacles? Next to one of the crowns, polished into a bright sheen, was Jack’s spyglass. He went to pick it up, but as he tried he nearly screamed, the metal slipping from between his fingers and rolling across the banquet hall floor.

It was so hot! Jack could barely touch it! He cradled his burnt hand against his chest, staring wide-eyed at the spyglass. How could he take it now?

The banquet hall door burst open. Still clutching his hand, Jack ducked behind the altar, and cringed at the sound of ringing metal on metal – the tell-tale sound of sword biting into another sword.

He knew the danger, but curiosity got to Jack, and carefully his pulled himself up, peeking over the altar.

In the middle of the room, two armoured figures were circling each other. Each had an impressive sword in hand. Jack had seen one of those swords before – Dagur had been waving it about in the Mirror Valley. Jagged, ruthless, bloodthirsty.

The other sword was brightly polished, well cared for, and easily recognisable as the tool of a master. The dragon knight was flawless in his swordsmanship, drawing back easily to parry Dagur’s blows, before thrusting forth on the offense – slashing quickly and sporadically at a pace Dagur was hard pressed to keep up with.

Dagur lunged left, and the knight feinted right, only to meet Dagur’s lunge head on, snapping the sword in Dagur’s hand away with a quick flick of his wrist, and throwing Dagur himself over his shoulder.

Dagur crashed into one of the benches, meat and wine spilling over the floor, like some grotesque sacrifice to the gods. He growled, freeing himself from the mess, and spitting out a tooth. Blood trickled down his lips.

“Meta es rehel’ar.” he sneered. “Rada. Met varsa d’rehel – met es’ar es nin pala d’sherla benro Alvin es shecla met.”[29]

The knight didn’t respond. He spun his wrist in a figure of eight, sword poised and ready. “Ve’coul es mat lorefynd.”[30] Came a low, calm voice. Jack twitched.

He’d heard that voice before. Surely he had. How could he not have? It was so familiar. The very sound of it brought warmth to Jack’s chest.

“Met evra met lorefynd? Mal es libe. Mal esor’ar.”[31]

The knight paused, his sword lowering a little. “Va es rala, vina wataro mat?”[32]

Dagur laughed. “Vina nin?!”[33]

The knight stared for a long while, then finally lowered his sword. “Met es lorca.”[34] He said flatly, turning to leave the banquet hall.

Something flashed in the corner of Jack’s eye. He watched, horrorstruck, as Dagur slipped a throwing knife from his belt into his hand, his eyes trained on the knight’s back. Without a second thought, Jack stood from his hiding place and yelled “Behind you! Look out!”

Jack didn’t expect it to help. Obviously, the knight was Mûnthan. He wouldn’t understand Jack, would he?  
Except he did.  
The knight’s head snapped around to look at Jack, who was probably looking as scared, shocked and panicked as he felt, then spun on his heel to see Dagur lunge forward again, this time throwing his knife with all his might.

Like lightning, the knight rolled to the floor, dodging the knife, before grabbing his own knife from his boot and throwing it in retaliation.

Dagur’s brow twitched, his maniacal grin still plastered across his face as his body slumped back into the stinking mix of wine and meat – blood congealing with the sticky, sweet mess - the knife of the dragon knight buried deep in his throat.

Jack sank to his knees in relief. The adrenalin was leaving his body now, sapping away his energy as it did. The burning in his eyes and buzzing in his fingers were back. It hurt.

Before he could hit the ground, the knight had ran over to Jack, skidding onto his knees before the exhausted prince. Leather gloves cupped Jack’s face gently, pulling his head up to look the knight in the face. Was it wishful thinking, or did Jack really see familiar green eyes meeting his through the visor?

“ _Jack?”_ the knight whispered, his voice almost broken in its uncertainty.

Jack nodded tiredly. He was probably hallucinating again. Dangerous scenario? Check. Feeling weak? Check. Wishing his kindred would just _be here?_ Double check.

“Yeah, I’m Jack. Hello.” Jack replied wearily. The knight let out a shuddering breath, then wrapped his arms around Jack in an all-encompassing hug. Jack shivered. It wasn’t like the hugs Astrid had given him; small comforts, if a little uncomfortable. This just felt _right._ Jack relaxed a little into the man’s arms. So what if this was a dream? Jack would take what he got.

“Jack? Jack, listen to me. We aren’t safe here. I need to get you back to Berk Mountain.”

“How come you’re speaking common?” Jack mumbled blearily into the knights shoulder.

“Jack, are you listening? We need to go!”

“Why?” Jack asked a little giddily. “I’m probably dying. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

The knight pulled back abruptly. “You’re hurt?” he demanded.

Jack shrugged. “Just my hand.”

The knight carefully took Jack’s injured hand from where it was tucked next to Jack’s chest and into his own hand, inspecting the damage. “How did this happen?”

“Spyglass.” Jack replied flippantly. “It was too hot.”

The knight glanced over the room, finally spotting the offending spyglass just under one of the tables. He stared for a second, then nodded tightly. Now there was no doubt. He turned back and peered at Jack, taking in his face and eyes with a searching gaze. “You think this is a death cry.” He whispered, resigned. Jack raised a brow, but said nothing.

The knight stood slowly, releasing Jack briefly as he went back and pulled the spyglass from under the table. At his touch, the vaguely purple sheen on the spyglass’ metal casing faded, the enchantment’s purpose fulfilled. He came back and handed the spyglass to Jack, who took it with a certain sense of trepidation.

His eyes widened. The metal was cool to the touch.

The knight took another look at Jack’s burnt hand, and snorted derisively. “From my own experience alone, I can tell you it will take more than a first-degree burn to kill you.” He offered Jack his right hand, his left still holding his sword readily. Puzzled, Jack took it and let the knight help him to his feet. It was a nice change from being dragged everywhere.

“Also, just so you know…” the Knight added, headed towards the exit, his hand still holding Jack’s firmly. “I have no intention of letting you die any time soon.”

  
-:-

The mountain corridors passed Jack like a blur now. The only thing he was vaguely aware of was the hand still holding his – like a lifeline. They sped down a few more tunnels, finally coming across Astrid and the other knight, who was now nursing his jaw.

Jack’s knight slowed as he approached them, sighing. “Vema vas met es tura, Snotlout?”[35]

“Ninra!” the other exclaimed, pointing at Astrid. “Mela es watarivish!”[36]

Astrid didn’t pay him any heed. Instead, she was just beaming, her eyes flicking from Jack to the knight, to where their hands were still linked. “Met lurk’ar men.” She beamed.

Jack blinked. _You found him._

What did that mean exactly?

The knight merely nodded before saying “Hekka al’vagne a Berk Munthar.”[37]

She nodded. “D’Granoré?”[38]

The knight gestured for her to follow with his free hand, not relinquishing his hold on Jack. It was as if Jack wasn’t the only one afraid it was all a dream.

They hurried out into the darkness, the side of the mountain pitch black, save for the moonlight that pooled around them. A waxing half – the full moon would be here within a fortnight. The thought alone made Jack shudder.

They trekked through the brittle undergrowth, brambles and vine weed catching on their clothes and winding around their feet. Jack – ever the graceless one -  must have nearly tripped and fell on his face a dozen times, but each time the hand firmly clasping his would tighten and steady him again, with a soft murmur of “Are you alright?” to accompany it.

Suddenly, a great, bellowing horn sounded from inside the mountain. Then the air was filled with screeching. The knight swore. “ _Shec! Hesa lurk’ar Dagur.”_

 _“What?”_ whispered Jack. He couldn’t see the knight’s face, hidden as it was behind his helmet, but his eyes certainly had an edge to them.

“They found Dagur’s body. We have to leave. _Now.”_

At this point, the knight began to pull Jack faster through the mountain-side bracken, pushing past the thorny brambles hastily. After a few more minutes of fast trekking, two dragons waited, hidden in the underbrush, eyes luminous in the dark night, like little guiding lamps.

One dragon was huge, with a great, sloping neck with large, spire-like spines racing down its back. You could barely make out its colour in the dark, but as Jack got closer, the moonlight glinted down to reveal a fiery red sheen. The other dragon…

Well, the only way Jack even knew there were two dragons was the bright green, glowing eyes that peered out into the dark with an almost feline grace.

It was completely black – blending in perfectly with its dark surroundings. Jack could barely make it out. The only thing he could tell for sure was that the black dragon was far smaller and sleeker than the first.  

Initially, he thought the leader of the knights would go to the larger, more impressive beast. Imagine his surprise when the other knight leapt up onto the beast, dragging a grumbling Astrid on after him. Jack followed meekly as he was taken to the black dragon. It snuffled at him – he could feel the warm breath on his hands and neck. He hissed as hot air passed over the burn on his palm, and flinched as the dragon growled softly. Then Jack yelped – what the? The dragon had just licked his hand! Did it want to eat him?

Above him, the knight had mounted the dragon, watching Jack from his perch on the dragon’s back. He huffed a soft laugh. “It’s alright – dragon saliva has healing properties. Toothless is just worried that you’re injured.”

Jack blinked up at the knight. “He is?”

A single nod. “So am I, to be frank. Let’s get out of here.” He took hold of Jack’s wrist, and helped him up onto the dragon’s back, sat just behind the knight himself. Jack hesitated, but finally decided on wrapping his arms around the other man’s torso. It was better than falling off. That, and when he did put his arms around the knight’s middle, he felt the other stiffen for a moment, before resting one of his own gloved hands on Jack’s interlocked ones.

The knight softly murmured “Hold on.” And with a couple clicks of his tongue, the dragon – Toothless – launched himself into the sky. Jack clung on for dear life; this dragon was a speed demon! He literally molded himself into the knight back, pressing his cheek against warm leather as he braced himself.

Storm clouds rumbled and shifted in the distance. The sound of wailing and screeching only intensified when the dragons were airborne. “Kir, Nincrel!” The knight yelled, and the dragon swerved, banking left before great, sweeping wings sent them hurtling further upward.

Then, bursting forth from the cloud with a tremendous scream, another dragon hurtled towards them at break-neck speed. Lighting crackled around its wings and talons as it snatched at the riders, its claws barely missing Jack by an inch.

Toothless barrel-rolled mid-air, dodging the creatures claws and roared furiously. Jack yelled as he clung impossibly tighter, his head spinning.

“SKRILL!” Astrid yelled from the other dragon. The skrill screamed out in reply, diving again. The knight steered Toothless right, dodging again, before Toothless let rip a charged ball of light toward the shrieking dragon. It hit the creature’s wing, but the charge wasn’t great enough to injure. If anything, the Skrill just got angrier.

It weaved beneath the riders now, its attempt to dive at them having failed. From this view, Jack could see a rider on the dragon’s back. But it couldn’t be – Dagur was dead! Yet that was Dagur’s riding gear, and his helmet. And that was his sword – like jagged jet – that the rider was brandishing. Over the roar of thunder, a voice yelled out “Met kry’ar mar kevla, Hiccup! Met ar cruvek va met bluren!”

“Cera.” The knight hissed, glaring down at the rider. Jack wasn’t really paying attention. He was a little preoccupied – and very perturbed – that the voice that had just yelled at them was _female._

“Hiccup, hekka nin vagna fren es! Esa Skrill!” Astrid shouted, her voice growing with panic.

_We can’t outrun it._

“Hekka es trel!” The knight yelled back.

_We can try._

Jack braced himself again as Toothless shot forward, following the curve of the mountain face as he tried to shake the Skrill off his path. But the skrill – and its rider – were relentless. Every time the small dragon would squeeze past jagged rocks or duck under thick branches to lose the skrill in a path it couldn’t follow, lightning would flash and crackle, and then suddenly the obstacle would be little more than ash.

Toothless banked further left, towards the woodland that stretched as far as the eye could see. The knight tensed, hunching where he sat, gripping Jack’s arm tightly. “Nin, Nincrel. Nin eiro.” He whispered. Jack frowned, noticing a slight red glow emitting from the knight’s collar. As the dragon banked back towards the mountains again, the glow faded to nothing. He blinked rapidly. It had to be him seeing things. The painful buzzing behind his retinas was not helping either.

Jack squeezed his eyes against the burning. It was too much. The pressure was too great. His head was about to explode, and his fingers were so numb with power he could barely hold on to the knight. The knight, must have noticed, because he lowered his arm to grip even tighter to Jack. “Hold on, Jack. _Please_ hold on.”

“I have to do something.” Jack mumbled into the leather.

“What?”

“Stop running.” Jack said louder, pulling his arms from the knight’s middle. His core was practically rattling within him. Jack felt like he would burst. “I have to do something.”

“Do what?” was the panicked reply. “Jack, what are you doing?!”

The knight bent around awkwardly to face Jack, his hands unrelenting in their grip. “I just found you! I’m not losing you!”

Jack shook his head furiously. “You heard Astrid – you can’t outrun it! But I have a purpose here. I can fight it. Trust me.”

The eyes behind the visor were conflicted. Wide as the moon with fear, but at the same time warring with the need to protect, and the instinct to trust Jack implicitly.

Finally, his hand slackened. “Don’t you dare die.”

Jack smirked. “I’ll do my best.”

With that, he let the wave inside him break. As the floodgates opened, both Jack and the knight gasped. Jack, because he’d never known anything like this power before. The sheer force of it thundering through his body almost made him scream.  
The knight, because as this strange power overwhelmed the southern prince, his bright blue eyes turned an ethereal silver.

The wind whipped around them, the air ever becoming colder and colder. Everything in Jack told him to jump – to throw himself into the swirling turret of air that was encompassing a steadily more and more alarmed Toothless. Jack gave the knight a final smile, before leaning back and letting himself fall.

“JACK!”

The voice echoed away. Jack was beyond that now. He was _flying._ The moment he’d fallen, the wind buffeted up under him, catching him in its ethereal arms. He smiled – a true, rare smile since the attack on Caruselle. Nothing felt more freeing than this.

He steadied himself, hovering mid-air with his palms facing upward, his eyes narrowing as they settled upon the Skrill and its rider. The girl sent the creature charging towards him, her sword raised high.

With that single thought, the howling wind took purpose – an entire gale force aimed at the creature, ricocheting it back. Its rider screamed in fury as they were battered by the winds onslaught. The air around Jack turned even colder, the storm clouds above finally splitting like over-ripe fruit. Rain. Rain that froze the moment it fell. Suddenly, Jack was surrounded in a furious snow storm that was his to control.

The magic at his fingertips was only building more, and the girl cried out as the sleet and snow hit her and the skrill like a battering ram. The ice whirled faster as Jack clenched his fists, and with the throwing out of his hands, the wind raced like hounds, throwing the Skrill so hard it careened into the side of the mountain.

It let out a sharp cry of pain, and Jack knew it was down and out. So why was the wind still screaming around him? Why was the snow still swirling and pelting anyone that got too near?  
Across from him, though eyes tainted with bright light, Jack could see the knight reaching out for him, only to be pushed back by the gale force.

“Jack!” His voice carried by the wind. “Jack, _you have to let it go! Let go!”_

Let go? Let go of what?

Silvery eyes peered down at his clenched fists, his hair and cloak whipping around him. The power was so intense. It was consuming him. He could almost drown in the feeling – of numbing pins and needles climbing all over him, smothering his entire body. He’d never felt so high. _So free._

It was addictive. He had to let go.

Abruptly, he unclenched his hands, and the buzz stopped. It was like he’d fallen in that lake again – plunging into those icy depths, no longer able to breathe. He gasped, his vision clearing, and suddenly the wind had dropped. There was no power anymore. Jack was exhausted – he couldn’t save himself, even if he tried. He was falling again…

“JACK!”

Jack’s eyes flickered closed as he fell, limbs limp as he hurtled back to solid ground. So that was why the Boy from the North was here. He really _was_ going to die.  
That was his last thought before exhaustion took him. He barely felt his wrist being grabbed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] Dagur: “Keep him with the other prisoners.”

[2] Astrid: “Who are you?”

[3] “But the prince of Caruselle has brown eyes and hair. Your eyes are blue…and white hair… _you’re a Moon Maiden._ Are you hurt? What are the bandages for? How did you get here?”

[4] “I was looking for you. He told me to look for you. I thought you were dead – we all did…”

[5] “Sorry. But I don’t believe it – you’re here!”

[6] “I am a friend. My best friend is your kindred – I won’t hurt you! Friend. _Friend.”_

[7] He will come.

[8] They’re preparing a wedding…who is getting married?

[9] That would be me

[10] What are you saying?

[11] It’s my wedding.

[12] And who is your bride?

[13] No! He is the kindred of one of my people! You can’t have him!

[14] Says you? I get what I want, and I want him.

[15] My leader will kill you!

[16] He can try.

[17] Where are you taking him?! What are you doing?! Wait! Jack!

[18] Quickly, come with me!

[19] Attack! The Dragon Knights are attacking! Hurry!

[20] You! You cannot take our Chief’s betrothed!

[21] He is NOT your Chief’s betrothed!

[22] You are a fighter.

[23] JACK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

[24] Go. We have to keep moving quickly.

[25] Go! Quick! We’re nearly there!

[26] Wait Astrid! It’s me!

[27] You call that fighting?!

[28] Crazy girl.

[29] You’ve been practicing! Good! You were no more than a girl before Alvin fucked you!

[30] Where is my friend.

[31] You want your friend? She’s free. She escaped.

[32] If that’s true, why fight me?

[33] Why not?!

[34] You are crazy.

[35] What did you do this time, Snotlout?

[36] Nothing! She’s just violent!

[37] We need to get back to Berk Mountain.

[38] The dragons?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sits in corner and awaits reactions*...*grinning maniacally*
> 
> Someday, Jack will make it through a chapter without losing consciousness. :/ He's going through a LOT of exhausting changes, alright?! That's my excuse. There is a reason teenagers sleep like the dead!
> 
> Good news: No more red herrings. Yes, that is who you think he is. Yes, he is legit there, not some dream/fantasy/hallucination. No, I am not lying.
> 
> Bad news: Sick Author = no writing skill. At all. Muzzy head. ¬_¬ So I may not be able to update again for a while...  
> I'll do my best gang, I promise. I wanted chapter 9 up by Christmas...


	8. The Sea of Clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I post H-1CP? I am insane. Certifiably insane.
> 
> Edit: Credit to Kit-ExReplica/ Kit-Replica (tumblr) for the fabulous picture he drew me that I sort of stuck in here. Because reasons. :P

_Chapter VIII_

**_ The Sea of Clouds _ **

**_  
_** The first time Jack woke, it was still dark. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, let alone anything else more than two feet away. He was vaguely aware of the sound of breathing, and a weight that pinned the blanket in a fixed place. His left hand was wrapped in something gauzy – it felt sticky too. _Probably the burn._ Jack mused.

His right hand was heavy. When he tried to lift it, something tightened around it, and the rhythmic breathing hitched. Jack lowered his hand again slowly, and closed his eyes again. It hadn’t happened since he was very young, but it was a comforting treat – sleeping whilst someone held his hand.

The second time he woke, it was a little bit more abrupt.

Jack jolted awake to the sound of thunderous yelling. It was morning, he could tell that much. Golden light filtered through a wide cave mouth, and at the same entrance Jack could vaguely make out a silhouette stood with its arms flung wide, barring any entrance into the room. The figure was yelling rapidly in Mûnthan – too fast for Jack to even try and distinguish – before being shouted down by an even louder voice. Jack winced. Whoever that was, he yelled like fog-horn.  
Jack’s bleary morning eyes could just make out the figure’s outline – shaggy hair that glinted a spectrum of gold and red in the sunlight, taut shoulders and lean frame – before whoever it was guarding him was grabbed by the bicep and yanked away, pulled out from Jack’s line of sight. 

The yelling continued, fading in volume as the two arguing men got further away. Jack sat up in bed, bewildered. When he looked at his bedside, an empty chair had been left tucked next to his bed. Well – mostly empty.

There, sat on the chair lense-downward, with the eyepiece in the air, was his spyglass. Jack carefully picked it up, worried it might burn him again. But no – the casing was still cool, if a little warmed where someone had been holding it recently.

Under the lens, Jack found a tiny, folded piece of parchment;

_I will come back._

-:-

  
To say Jack was frustrated by the situation would a little bit of an understatement. His tenth attempt at getting out of bed went just as well as the last nine, and suffice to say he was a little tired of the constant vertigo. His legs trembled every time he put weight on them, and standing just made him feel nauseated. He groaned as he fell back down onto the bed with a resigned _flump._

Everything that had happened last night seemed like a dream. But it must have been real, because Jack was no longer sitting in a cage with a grumpy Mûnthan girl as his only company.

It felt like déjà vu. Here he was, yet again, waking up in an unfamiliar room full of funny odds and end. The walls were lined with various furs, to keep out the chill. There were a couple work benches off to the side, where Jack could smell thyme and rosemary. The benches were cluttered with knives, strips of rags, tidbits of chopped herbs and a mortar and pestle.

The bed where he lay was mostly just a plank of wood, covered in shaggy furs and roughly hewn blankets. It was a texture Jack was becoming quite accommodated to by now.

He groaned where he lay, throwing his arm over his face in exasperation, his hand fisted around the piece of parchment, now crumpled in his grip. He huffed out a long sigh. It was _boring_ here; he was by all accounts bedridden, and there was no-one here to talk to.

Yes. Frustration. Understatement.

“Met es felena pora?”

Jack’s head snapped to the side. At the entrance of the cave, three women were coming in – at least one of them was a familiar face.

“Astrid!” Jack beamed, wriggling to try and sit up again. She gave him a smile in response. Jack’s brow crinkled at that – why was she looking so strained?

“Valhael, Jack.” She greeted him, setting herself down at the foot of his bed. The other two women watched them speculatively. Their gaze made Jack uncomfortable.

One of these women was an old, kindly looking crone, with a long staff that she leaned on as she bent under her hunched back. Around her shoulders curled a small dragon – no bigger than a cat – who gave little puffs of smoke from its nostrils as it slept. The other woman looked remarkably like Astrid, except she had green eyes and wavy, dark locks – like a raven’s wing. Also, unlike Astrid, she was dressed in a long, flowing robe, adorned with tiny pieces of silver.

This woman smiled at Jack, sitting herself primly on the empty chair next to the bed. Jack’s eyes flitted between her and the old woman, who was now busying herself at the work station with the chopped herbs. His eyes flicked back to the dark-haired woman when she raised her hand, palm facing Jack, in a silent question of permission. He stared at her, unsure why she would want to touch him. One look at Astrid, who nodded in assurance, made him breathe a little easier as he too nodded in compliance.

The girl’s hands were silky as they rested on his forearm. She gave him a winning smile.

_“Until you’ve learnt to speak Mûnthan, this will have to do.”_

Jack yelped, almost yanking his arm away in the process. The black haired girl had definitely been speaking in Mûnthan, yet he understood every word, as if she were speaking common. The girl patted his arm reassuringly. “ _Jack, don’t worry. This is a magic that we share now – I can help you.”_

Jack frowned. “What do you mean?”

Whilst Astrid looked at him in confusion, the other merely smiled. “ _You have been blessed by the Moon Dragon, given powers beyond anything we’ve seen before. I too have this blessing – though not to the same extent. I can barely chill a cup of water. But I can still help you learn our language and customs. As you can plainly see”_ she grinned “ _the Moon Dragon has no patience for language barriers between those she has blessed.”_

Astrid nodded brightly. “Es nin tura met al felen’al kir – D’Relva Kex a pora asunera met esa!”

Jack frowned at her, turning to the other girl. “What did she say?”

The dark haired girl was glaring at Astrid as she replied “ _She said it won’t be long until you feel at home here.”_

Jack’s frown deepened. “And…that last bit? About the Chieftain?”

The girl blinked at Jack in surprise. “ _You already have a head start in Mûnthan, I see. Very well – She also said the Chief would have to accept you then.”_

At Jack’s confusion, she elaborated. “ _Our Chief does not like strangers. Particularly Southerners. They have no connection to the Moon Dragon, and therefore are… unpredictable. That, and since about six years ago, our Chief takes protectiveness to the extreme.”_

Astrid snorted. “Tâc, va esa fynd a parcita.”[1]

The girl glowered at Astrid furiously, whipping her hand from Jack’s arm as she snapped “Mera comren es nin assre. Vagna lurk’al d’Relva vesa crowa a men – men es proba pala schura a tura.”[2]

Astrid merely quirked an eyebrow at the girl, before slipping off the bed and out into the sunlight. Jack bit his lip. “Erm… what was that about?”

The girl gave him a questioning look, putting her hand on his arm. Duly, Jack repeated himself and she smiled. “ _Astrid is very protective of her friend. It’s understandable – things have been quite rough for the last six years.”_

Jack frowned. Rough? Before he could ask though, the girl leaned forward and flicked him on the nose. “Hey! What was that for?!”

_“You were biting your lip. He said you did that a lot.”_

Jack had no comeback for that. He just blushed.

  
-:-

  
Astrid didn’t need to ask where to find him. If anything, it was a given.

She made her way through the village – sloping huts made of wattle and daub, wooden slats and piled up stones, all decorated in various paints made with mixtures of clays and herbs. She followed the slippery, near vertical path down to the forge – a precarious lean-to that sat on the mountain’s outcrop, tucked out of the way where the fumes couldn’t bother anyone. Sighing, she pushed the lining rag that acted as a door out of the way, and padded into the sooty room.

The forge was always an overcrowded mess of a place, scattered with bits of metal and littered tools. The corners of the workshop were crammed with oddly-shaped contraption that would probably spring out at you if you touched them. Embittered, unfinished projects. Frustration-filled, scrapped ideas.

Over by the anvil, a familiar figure was lit only by the glowing metal he was handling, hammer in hand. Astrid wordlessly walked over and sat down on the workbench just in the blacksmith’s eye line. He sighed when he saw her, rolling his shoulders.

“ _Shouldn’t you be with Heather_?”

“ _Heather is busy with her new student. I was just…surplus.”_

He snorted derisively, picking up a second block of metal and throwing it carelessly into a clay pot, before picking up his tongs and using them to shove the pot into the forge flames. The soft metal hissed as it began to melt. Astrid winced.

_“You’re upset.”_

A hollow laugh. “ _Oh no, Astrid. I’m not upset – I’m fine! Better than fine! I’m swell.”_

Astrid waited as her friend continued to clang around his workshop, silently fuming. Finally, she spoke in a soft, placating voice “ _At least you know he’s safe.”_

The muscles tensed in his back, for a moment, but then he sighed, the anger and fight slipping away from him. Even in the heat of the forge, the chain and pendant that constantly hung from his neck felt cool, calming. Taking in a deep breath, Hiccup nodded. _“At least there’s that.”_ He looked back up at Astrid, meeting her eyes dead on. “ _Doesn’t mean I can ever speak to him again.”_

_“Hiccup…”_

_“They’re watching me, Astrid! They all are – on HIS orders! The moment I go anywhere near Jack, that’s it! They’ll throw Jack out to the mercy of the Besikians again – and this time they’ll do a lot worse than try to marry him!” _he spat the word. It tasted like vorpent venom on his tongue. The idea of what Dagur had tried to pull – _right under Hiccup’s nose –_ was enough to turn the Prince’s stomach. He only thanked the fates for small mercies – Jack had been with Astrid. And they hadn’t arrived too late.

_“Hiccup – you know what happened last time your Father went against the Moon Dragon. You and Jack are supposed to be, he can’t change that!”_

_“He’s done everything he can though, hasn’t he?!”_ Hiccup growled, pointing as his chest angrily. At that, Astrid really did flinch. That night had been a truly dark memory for the tribe. Astrid had fought hard against it for her friend, but nothing had changed the Chief’s mind. It had all been for his son’s protection, after all.

She could still hear Hiccup’s screams.

 _“There has to be a way to break the spell.”_ She replied carefully. Hiccup didn’t respond, instead he just despondently pulled the pot from the flames and poured the liquid metal into a mould.

_“That’s the last of the Moon Silver. Heather will have to bless more next full moon.”_

Astrid nodded. “ _I’ll tell her. What are you making anyway?”_

Hiccup lifted the object he’d been shaping earlier – a thin, silver bracelet, carved with various patterns and Munthic Runes. “ _Wedding bands. For Svan and Rohan in two weeks.”_

Astrid watched sadly as Hiccup continued working on the bracelets. How cruel – making him labour over someone else’s happy ending, and forever denying him his own. Then something clicked in Astrid’s mind, and she gasped. “ _Two weeks? That’s the full moon!”_

Hiccup shrugged. “ _We won’t be without Moon Silver for long then.”_

 _“Hiccup!”_ she hissed, smacking his bare arm. “ _The full moon! Your father has to let you be with Jack then, it would be cruel torture not to!”_

Hiccup huffed. _“He’s never had a problem with that before, has he?”_

_“Hiccup.”_

_“It’s not happening. I’ve already pointed that out to him – he doesn’t care. Says I can’t show my weak dependence to a moonless Southerner.”_

_“But Jack isn’t moonless! The Moon Dragon chose him.”_

_“Try telling that to my Father. He refuses to even lay eyes on Jack.”_ He met Astrid’s gaze steadily “ _Which is why he can’t leave the temple. Once Heather’s got him settled in the temple, keep him there. At least until I’ve got a plan…”_

Astrid raised a brow. “ _You’re telling me you don’t have a plan?”_

 _“Not yet.”_ Hiccup replied, picking up the bracelet and submerging it deep into a bucket of water. It hissed and bubbled on contact. Hiccup’s face was set as he watched. _“But I do have a goal.”_

  
-:-

Heather – the dark haired girl’s name, Jack soon learned – was pretty keen to get Jack at least a little trained up in the ways of the Moon Dragon. Not that Jack didn’t feel he didn’t know the Moon Dragon, oh no. The vindictive goddess of the Moon had been Jack’s close companion these last six years, if the blistering hell of every full moon had been any indication. But still, Heather was pretty resolute.

Which was how Jack had found himself at the mouth of another large cave. Only this cave entrance was adorned with glass beads that refracted the sunlight, leaving rainbow spectrums in their wake. The walls had been adorned in silvery white and rare blue paints, the images curling into strange symbols, which Heather explained were actually Munthic Runes for protection.

As he got further into the cave, he could hear water running in one direction, and see sunlight cascading downward in another. At his frown, Heather laughed and touched his arm.

 _“Over there are the healing springs.”_ She said, pointing down the passage Jack could hear water from. “ _Up ahead is the main temple. Follow me.”_

He did so, and was met by a sheer presence that made him shudder where he stood. There was no doubt that this was a sacred place, but something about it also unhinged him slightly. There was an emptiness that spoke of terrible things. The stillness was too perfect.

In the centre of the room, a stone altar stood. It too had runes carved into its very surface. Right above it was a circular hole, where Jack could see the clouds passing above. He stared up at the glorious blue sky, before looking back down at the altar thoughtfully. Then something caught his eye.

The altar had been scrubbed clean, polished until immaculate. But even in the smallest grooves of the tiniest runes, the evidence could not be washed away. Jack’s breath hitched. He reached forward, as if to touch the rune, when he heard Heather yell “Nin Jack! Nin sensha es!”[3]

She yanked his hand away from the altar, eyes bright. Jack stammered “Wh-what?”

She shook her head violently. _“The altar is imbued with the power of the moon. Touching it would overwhelm you – you would see visions of this room, and they would drive you mad!”_

“And why exactly would they do that?” Jack asked darkly. But something niggling at the back of his mind told him he already knew the answer. And he did not like it one bit.

Heather lowered her head. “ _This place has seen great horror and beauty. We must respect it for what it is.”_ She gave him an earnest look. _“Power has ways of punishing those who do not respect it.”_

“Are you talking about our power? Or those _in_ power?”

Heather turned away, refusing to look him in the eye. _“Are they not interchangeable?”_

Jack did not reply. He let the girl walk away, busying herself with lighting candles around the room. He did not move. He remained where he stood, next to the altar, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he stared accusingly at the dried blood that – try as she might – Heather had never been able to scrub out.

-:-

  
They didn’t speak about the blood on the altar. It was obvious it upset Heather, and in all honest truth, she had only been the tribe’s Moon Maiden for five years. She said that ritual had happened before her time. She said she has never drawn blood.

When Jack asked if she had seen such a ritual, she became very tight lipped. The matter was dropped quickly afterwards.

Instead, Heather focused on teaching him Munthan, which was great – now Jack could carry whole conversations with Heather without her needing to grab his arm. It made work around the temple much easier. On top of Muthan lessons, Heather busied herself explaining the various dynamics of Muthan life.

 _“The Moon Maiden is, to all purposes, High Priestess of the Moon Dragon for her tribe. Her duty is to act as a vessel for the Dragon’s power and will.”_ She said gently, placing a small bowl of water in front of the boy. _“Because we have access to such power, we must also show restraint. Freeze the water’s surface. Only the surface.”_

Jack sighed. This was attempt six.

Frowning in deep concentration, he bit his lip and moved his hand over the surface of the water – not even touching it. The first time, he’d grabbed the bowl full on, only to have the whole thing crystalize and shatter at his touch. He’d tried only dipping one finger in the water, but that had resulted in the bowl-shaped block of ice that was steadily melting in the corner of the room.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as his hands moved.

_“That’s it, Jack! You’re doing it! Look!”_

Jack opened his eyes at the praise, and grinned as he saw frosty ferns skimming over the water’s surface, slowly creating an icy cover to the water that you could still see sloshing underneath. “ _I did it!”_ he grinned up at her. With a laugh, he punched the air and crowed “It worked!”

Jack blinked. The bowl had suddenly been obliterated, the water forming sharp, jagged spiked that had pierced outward against the bowls shape. Jack’s shoulders slumped. “So much for that.”

Heather chuckled. _“You just got excited. Control, Jack.”_

_“Well, this looks like fun.”_

Both Jack and Heather spun around to see Astrid walking into the temple, one hand at her hip, the other arm engulfed in a bundle of cloth. Heather frowned. _“It’s not that I’m not glad to see you, but why are you here? And what do you plan to do with those?”_ she gestured to the bundle of rags. Astrid rolled her eyes.

“ _It might be that I’m not part of the Moon Maiden club, but I know that if I was stuck in this place for too long, I’d go crazy.”_ She turned to Jack, beaming. _“I’m sneaking you out.”_

Whilst Jack grinned back at Astrid like she was Yuletide come early, Heather didn’t look too impressed. In fact, she looked nervous. “ _Are you sure that’s a good idea, Astrid? Where are you going to take him anyway? The market?”_

Astrid laughed. _“No Heather, the market is way too conspicuous! I was just going to have him tag along to training with me.”_

Heather sucked in a breath, her cheeks turning red. _“Are you MAD? You are just asking for trouble if you take him to the academy! If he gets caught-”_

_“He won’t get caught.”_

_“If he does, Astrid, it won’t be on your head and you know it! What kind of plan is this?!”_

_“Um, girls?”_

Both the blonde and the black-haired girl snapped their heads around when Jack spoke up. He cowered under their gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. _“It would be nice to see something other than the walls of the temple, for once. But, erm…”_ he glanced over at Astrid. _“What training are you talking about?”_

She flicked a hair from her shoulder, smirking. _“Combat practice. With the Dragon Knights.”_

Suddenly, Jack knew why Heather was hesitant he should go. He knew the Chief didn’t like Southerners - that much Heather had explained. It also explained why he was to hide away in this temple, out of sight.

But these were the Dragon Knights. The very heroes of his childhood bedtime stories. And one of them was the knight that saved him from falling.

Nothing could stop him from going.

  
-:-

  
Sneaking out of the temple was easy – Heather just guided them through a tunnel just off the healing springs, which lead to a small outcrop path that ‘would lead you right to the tribe centre’. It was when they got to the ‘tribe centre’ when things got tricky.

Jack had bundled himself up in the raggedy clothes and furs, shucking his Carusellen finery for the coarse clothes of the North. He was forced to wear a cloak, for his new appearance would easily draw unwanted attention.

And really, what a new appearance it was.

Jack had never really had chance to look at himself since the incident at Mirror Lake. The opportunity had never really arisen, what with being kidnapped by unfriendly dragon-riders and thrown in a poorly lit cage for days on end.

So imagine his shock when, having decided to take a much needed bath in the springs, he finally caught sight of his own reflection to see he had _bright blue eyes and snow white hair._

It had taken Heather a while to calm him down, explain it was all part of being chosen by the Dragon.

“ _But you don’t have white hair!”_ Jack had gasped out.

She’d merely shook her head. _“I was not chosen like you.”_

Jack had taken his time about accepting the changes. Finally he grew to like them – they were certainly a lot more striking than his past looks of brown on brown. Question was, would his kindred even recognise him now? The thought had Jack in knots.

Astrid had told him to calm down though – looks were never an issue. _“Everyone changes with time, it’s a given.”_ She explained. _“You’d know you kindred anywhere though – it’s in the way they speak, or act. Calling out in a crowded room, you could pick out a single voice if they were the one you belonged to, and you to them.”_

Which all sounded very romantic and sweet to Jack, but practical? He was still sceptic.

Not that it really mattered at this point – he wasn’t allowed to go searching anywhere. All he knew was that the boy from the north had to be here _somewhere._ He’d recognised the writing on that parchment – the same script that had shakily scrawled on the walls of the Seeker’s Guild. That, and the spyglass was completely normal (useless) to him now, hanging at his hip. The enchantment had faded, but for the life of him Jack was having trouble remembering _when that happened._

The whole rescue mission was still such a blur. He remembered his snow storm, and escaping with Astrid… a knife in Dagur’s throat – an ode to irony – and the masked knight that had saved his life…

That was it. The extent of his memory went thus, and frankly it was not much to go on.

The thought made Jack glower at nothing in particular, which was probably a good thing. People could probably sense his grumpiness a mile off, which was why they were giving him and Astrid such a wide berth as they covertly made their way through the village square. Jack got a few odd looks, to which he’d adjust his hood and glare a little more. Astrid would just laugh and say something about ‘Ruffnut having a terrible cold’.

People really did leave them alone after that.

Astrid led him down a sloping path that skirted around the mountainside. A couple of times Jack had to lean against the wall to brace himself, the footing of the path was so tenuous. Astrid gave him a sympathetic look. _“I’d usually ride on Stormfly to practice, but with her injured wing, I can’t. Sorry.”_

Jack merely waved her off and kept going, one foot in front of the other. Something told him he could probably fly there too. But with the way his control with his new powers were going, that could possibly be more conspicuous than running around in Carusellen silks in the village square.

The academy was actually more of an arena, hewn from the very rock of the mountain itself. It was a large, circular structure with an open ceiling, exposed to all and every weather. For such a modest community of mountain tribesmen, it was huge. And not merely a little daunting.

Astrid smirked when she caught Jack hesitating from the corner of her eye. _“Come on, Moon Maiden. You do not want to miss this, I promise.”_

Jack let her lead him through iron, grated gates, promptly yanking him to the side where spectator’s benches had been carved into the walls of the arena, like a coliseum. They were one of the first to arrive – being on foot for the first time, Astrid had taken no chances. She settled him a few rows back, away from too many prying eyes. She yanked at his clothes a little, to make sure none of his give-away pale skin or white hair was on show, and nodded to herself when satisfied. Jack pouted up at her, unimpressed with the man-handling. “ _This better be worth it.”_ He muttered.

She gave him a secretive smile and tapped his nose. “ _It will be!”_ she sang. She turned back to the arena centre then, headed for a large palette with an array of weapons of display. Jack was completely unsurprised when she yanked a battle-axe from its place. Throwing knives? Arrows? Darts? Oh no, they were far too effeminate for Astrid. Not when a bloodied axe to the face could get her point across much easier.

Jack relaxed where he sat, making sure Astrid’s pulling around wasn’t for naught, and all his little tells stayed hidden. A few more people arrived, mostly on dragonback – some took seats around the arena, like Jack, whilst a small number stayed in the arena centre, greeting Astrid like a lost friend.

 _She was._ Jack reminded himself. _She was Dagur’s captive for nearly two weeks straight._  

Jack was still frowning at the thought when a familiar dragon swooped down through the open ceiling and landed in the arena. Jack blinked.

He hadn’t been able to see the dragon properly that night, since it had been so dark. But none-the-less, it was an impressive creature. And now he saw it in broad daylight, Jack knew it to be even more so.

Entirely black, but with a sheen to his scales much like raven wings, the dragon was small, sleek, and barely covered in any armour – unlike many of the other dragons. Clearly, Toothless and his knight worked mostly with speed, stealth and agility as their strengths.  
Speaking of his knight…

Jack peered out from his hood as the man slipped from the leather saddle on the dragon’s back. Apparently, there was no need for his full armour in practice, as he wore merely leather breeches and a coarse linen shirt, with leather cuffs strapped to his forearms. And also… he wasn’t wearing his helmet.

_He wasn’t wearing his helmet._

Jack swore, if he had been standing, he would have fallen over. As it was, his jaw had fallen agape, and actually he had no intention of pulling it off the floor for a while.

Because it was _him._ Because Jack _hadn’t been dreaming._ Because Jack’s kindred was _right there._ Close enough to reach out and touch.

So why was Jack frozen where he sat?

“ _Alright then, gang. Listen up.”_ Jack melted a little when that voice carried over. A part of Jack wondered how he ever could have forgotten it. It was unique. _“Today I want to put you through your paces on ground combat. The Besikians are getting restless and – whilst I’d prefer to keep the fighting off ground – we need to keep our bases covered. Ruffnut, Fishlegs, let’s see how you fare.”_

Jack tried to watch the fight, he really did. He forced his eyes to stay on the circling pair – a tall girl with swinging blonde hair woven into knots, and a mountain of a man that didn’t look too confident with the broadsword he’d been given.

He was easily distracted though, by the sheer fact his partner circled the two as they fought, shouting out advice and criticism where it was needed. The sun was out in full force, just as it had been that morning – long ago – in the courtyard of Caruselle Palace. Just like back then, the sunlight brought out all the reds and golds in the boy’s hair. His skin was slightly darker – a healthy, sun-kissed glow that spoke of hours flying under open skies. Jack smiled at the fact those freckles were still there, regardless of time. He was glad they hadn’t faded.

His smile turned wistful when the sun caught on something else – something so dainty, Jack hadn’t noticed it before. A glint of silver drew Jack’s attention, and he choked a little when he realised what he was seeing; the compass. The boy from the north had kept the compass. And yes, it really was him.

Jack drew in a staggered breath, pulling his focus back onto the training. The large man should have easily overpowered the stick-like woman, but his confidence failed him. He’d swing the weapon around hap-hazardously and without much intuition. It was easy for her – quick on her feet – to dodge the blows, and with a firm kick to one of his knees, she broke his stance and brought him to the arena floor.

 _“I win.”_ She smirked. The man – Fishlegs – merely grumbled as he got to his feet. Jack could hear whispering around him, and he shifted uneasily.

_“Ruffnut?”_

_“I thought Astrid said she was sick…”_

Jack ignored the curious glances sent his way, intent on watching the training session. Or more to the point, one of its participants.

His kindred put his hands on his hips, straightening his back. _“Good job, Ruffnut. Fishlegs – where did you go wrong?”_

Ruffnut snorted. _“He left his study.”_

Jack’s knight simply rolled his eyes. _“Not the team attitude I’m looking for, Ruff. Fishlegs?”_

The mountainous man brushed arena dust from his knees as he replied _“I was too offensive. I didn’t defend my own stance properly.”_

The knight nodded. “ _Good. You also were really unsure in your own offence. I know you’re the scholar of the Knights, Legs. But you need more confidence in battle.”_

Fishlegs nodded his assent, picking up the abandoned broadsword from the ground. Astrid stepped forward, axe spinning in her hand.

_“I know I could do with some practice. Two weeks incarceration can make you rusty.”_

_“Alright.”_  The knight smiled, folding his arms. “ _Snotlout, think you’re up to a challenge?”_

 _“No way.”_ Came another voice. Jack recognised it as the other knight that had rescued them. He looked different without his helmet; dark hair and bright blue eyes set in a large, broad face. He had a well set body, but despite this he was shaking his head at Jack’s knight like he was insane. _“I went toe-to-toe with Astrid mere minutes out of ‘incarceration’, and she still beat me. Sorry, Captain. She’s all yours.”_

Astrid laughed. _“Coward!”_

Snotlout shrugged. _“I know when I’m beat.”_

Astrid shook her head with a snort, before turning back to face Jack’s knight – the _Captain,_ no less. “ _Looks like it’s you and me.”_

 _“Looks like it.”_  Was the reply, but Jack did not miss the gleam of challenge that passed between them. The other spectators were shuffling forward in their seats. Obviously, they knew something he didn’t. So he followed suit, shimmying forward to get a better view.

Astrid spun the axe in her hand again, smirking as she began to carefully pace out a circle. The knight mirrored her movements, always keeping their equidistance. With his left hand, he drew his own sword – a long sword, the same one Jack had seen him fight Dagur with – and poised it, battle ready. It flashed in the sunlight, brightly polished.

They seemed to just circle each other for ages, gauging the other’s steps and body language. Then without warning, Astrid charged across the arena, axe raised high. Jack waited for the knight to raise his sword in defence to what obviously would be a downwards slash, but when he did no such thing, Jack gasped.

Suddenly, Astrid swiftly changed tack, swinging her axe from the side instead of from above. The knight just grinned at her as he blocked, spinning away with the perfect parry.

 _“It’s always that same opening gambit with you!”_ he chuckled, poising his sword again.

 _“If I did anything different now, you’d have Gothi trying to stitch you back to one piece.”_ Astrid replied haughtily. She charged again. _“Don’t get complacent on me, Hiccup!”_   

 Jack watched on as the two met in the middle of the arena again, the knight blocking her blow, before taking a swipe of his own at her. As Astrid jumped away, the knight pursued her with his own volley of blows. Jack was distracted at this point though.

He rolled the name around in his head. For six years, he would have given anything for that name. But now he had it… it wasn’t right. Sure, it fitted. Jack knew that much. But the mention of that name didn’t warm his heart down to the very cockles. It had to be a nickname. That was the only explanation.

It didn’t matter. Jack smiled as Astrid was forced to parry another volley of blows from _Hiccup._ Jack’s Dragon Knight.

Hiccup had spun swiftly, dodging Astrid’s swinging axe as it sliced through the air towards him. He hadn’t quite been fast enough though, and with a fast ripping sound, Hiccup yelped and grabbed his right shoulder. Jack’s eyes widened when his palm came away red.

Without even thinking, he got to his feet. He was just about to run down to the arena, when a shout jerked him from his reverie.

“ _Hey you! What are you doing here?!”_

 _Damn._ Jack realised with a jolt that the moment he stood up, his hood had fallen off. Every eye in the arena was fixed on his bright white hair and luminescent skin. _Every eye._

Jack looked back down where the fighters were, to see Hiccup staring right at him. He looked shocked, afraid, and a little bit angry. He grabbed Astrid’s arm, muttering something to her. She nodded quickly, before hurrying over to Toothless, who had been patiently waiting for practice to be over. Jack twisted his head from one direction to another. The villagers were converging on him, and none of them looked particularly friendly. He whimpered, hiding his face in his hands.

_“Leave him alone!”_

 Jack’s head snapped up at that, only to find his wrist had been grabbed, and he was being pulled down the galleries, to where Astrid and Toothless were waiting. Angry yells and mystified whispers followed him as he followed Hiccup down. Jack wished he could just hide in Hiccup’s arms right now, but with the mob behind them, it was impossible.

Hiccup stopped when they got to his dragon, and he spun Jack in his hands to look at him. “Are you alright?” he whispered.

Jack nodded, glancing up at Astrid on the dragon. “You’re sending me away again.” He muttered. Hiccup pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“Believe me, I don’t want to. But I am working on it, Jack. I made you a promise.”

Jack snorted. “So you’re coming back?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hiccup’s heart twisted a little when he heard the note of disbelief in Jack’s voice. He pulled Jack into the briefest of hugs, pressing his lips firmly to his forehead. “I will _always_ come back.” He breathed.

His hands tightened around Jack’s waist, and suddenly Jack found himself being lifted into Toothless’ saddle. “For now, though, I need you safe.” Hiccup continued, his voice firm. “Astrid – get him back to the Temple. I’ll speak with you later.”

Astrid nodded, clicking Toothless on and taking off into the sky, back towards the temple. Jack wouldn’t take his eyes off the academy as it shrank from sight. He bit his lip and tightened his knuckles furiously. He was tired of the distance between him and Hiccup. He was sick of all the secrets being kept from him. And whilst Hiccup claimed he was figuring out a plan, his plans hadn’t worked for the last six years – obviously – so someone was going to have to do some planning.

Jack’s brow set with his own determination. He needed to speak with Heather. He may well need Astrid’s help too. But so help him, Jack was going to find a resolution to this. And he was _not_ leaving the Archipelago Mountains without Hiccup at his side.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] Yeah, for one person in particular.

[2] Your comments are not helping. Go find the Prince and talk to him – he’s probably very hurt right now.”

[3] No Jack! Don’t touch that!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought the trouble was over.... 
> 
> But props to Jack for getting though a chapter without blacking out! Yay progress! :D
> 
> (If any of you say a word of Stoick hate to me, I will rip a new one. Two words: Character. Development. Stoick has been his dumb, over-protective, stubborn self that thinks he knows best and won't listen to anyone else's reasoning. If you think my emulating that very character from HTTYD constitutes as Stoick hate, or in need of flaming, I seriously suggest you reconsider.)
> 
> Warning over! Please do chat to me - I do love hearing your thoughts!! :D


	9. Revelations

_Chapter IX_

****_Revelations  
_  
      “I _told you he would get caught!”_ Heather snapped, yanking away the raggedy cloak from Jack and bustling over to the temple shrine. “ _I told you! And now look what’s happened – the whole village knows about him! The Chief will hear about this, you know he will Astrid! And then what, hm? It’s not you he’ll confront, you know that, right?!”_

 _“I know.”_ Astrid muttered angrily, folding her arms. _“I screwed up.”_

Jack frowned at her, pulling on his old blue cloak and tying it at its silver fastenings. “ _Actually, Astrid, I was the one that stupidly stood up and revealed myself. So the fault is mine.”_

Astrid shot him a fierce look. _“You stood up because you watched me draw blood in a fight against your kindred. Your response was natural, Jack. I should have been less careless. I knew better.”_

Jack paused at that, his eyes fixing to the ground. The two women were murmuring to each other – Heather hissing furiously whilst Astrid played the apologetic guilty party. But apologies, excuses and broken promises were not good enough for Jack. Not anymore. He wanted answers, and since neither of the girls were being all that forthcoming, only one option sprung to mind.

He didn’t give any warning, he just moved. Heather must of seen him from the corner of her eye, because he heard her yell out. But she was too late – Jack’s hands were already slapping downwards, hitting the marble altar with a painful force. Roaring filled his ears, and his eyes seemed to blur in and out of focus. He could hear voices fading in and out – mixtures of Astrid’s panicked voice, and a low, growling voice that seemed far away, but getting closer and closer. Jack took a sharp breath, closed his eyes and focused on that voice.

The more he focused, the closer he got. Or was it the further he fell?  


-:-  


_“Stoick, I can’t let you do this!”_

_Jack blinked, his eyes coming back into focus as the woman’s voice rang out against the walls, pleading. He was standing in the temple again – the altar was set before him, glinting in the candle light. Candles were set about the room – in every alcove in sight. By the altar, prepared tools sat in wait; herbal salts, ashes, spiced oils and, lying almost innocently by all the other pots and jars, an athame. The ceremonial knife was ornate – intricately carved and hewn by masterfully skilled hands. Jack reached towards it, only to flinch back when two people came barrelling into the shrine with him._

_He waited for them to throw him out, but neither of the towering couple noticed him. They only had eyes – furious, seething eyes – for each other._

_“You can’t do this to our son!” the woman pleaded, gripping at his hand. The other – a great, hulking man, built entirely of muscle and flaming hair – pulled his hand from the woman’s grasp._

_“There is no other way, Val! I spoke with Gothi, and with Heather… you know yourself! You were the tribe’s moon maiden once! There is no other way!”_

_The woman fumed, throwing her hands in the air. “How selfish can you be?! The enchantment is cruel and barbaric – and it would not stop Alvin from dragging the boy off the mountains again!”_

_“Alvin deals with livestock slaves, Valka. Hiccup would be no use to him once Alvin had ‘dragged him off’.  I believe it would be crueller to let Hiccup live through that again.”_

_“So you’d rather enchant him so that should he leave the Sea of Clouds, all breath be stolen from him? You’d rather have your only heir DIE, instead of finding his way back to you? As he’s done before?!”_

_“That was never a given, Valka! And you saw the boy when he returned – he was a mere shell of himself!”_

_“He had grown up, Stoick! That, and he’d met his kindred!”_

_“Another good reason to stop Hiccup leaving!” the man roared. Jack flinched back. The man continued. “So he is partnered with a young man – I can live with that! But a **Southerner?** Valka, I’m protecting our boy from further heartbreak. You know they do not love like we do! They are not tied by the moon. They do not mourn in the full moon’s light. That Southern Prince will have a harem of lovers by the time he’s fifteen, mark my words! Hiccup is better off without him!”_

_“You do not know that!” Valka pressed, glaring. “The Carusellen Royalty just saved your son’s life, Stoick, and returned him to us! You repay them with half-baked suspicion? By smearing their son’s name with tar?”_

_When Stoick merely glared, she continued. “And then you proceed to punish Hiccup further, by chaining him to the Sea of Clouds with his own mortality! You would separate him from his Sel’a? Damn him to a monthly curse under the Moon Dragon’s wrath?”_

_“It is for his own protection, Valka.” The Chief growled._

_“No!” his wife hissed. “It is for your own damnable pride.”_

_The chief shook his head slowly. “I’ve made up my mind. Fares forgive me, but it has to be done. Hiccup’s place is here, with his own people. Not by the side of a boy who may or may not love him.” He looked his wife dead in the eye. “Hate me, Valka. I welcome it. But the ceremony is still happening tonight.”_

_Both sets of eyes lingered on the altar. Jack glanced at it as well, and shuddered. He’d only just noticed; there were chains, with empty, open manacles, waiting on the altar too. And there was no blood._

_“I will never forgive this, Stoick.” Valka murmured, her words a vow in the frigid air. Jack watched as the woman walked away, passing a young girl that was approaching the altar with a fast, nervous gait._

_Stoick bent at the knee, lowering his head to speak to the young girl. “Is everything nearly ready?”_

_The girl trembled, nodding her head. “Yes sir. I just need some water to bathe the wounds after the ritual.” Stoick nodded._

_“I can get that.” He muttered, picking up an empty pail at the altar’s side, and marching back down the corridor. Jack looked back at the girl – the one obviously performing this ‘ritual’ – and gasped. She was shaking uncontrollably, tears rolling thick and fast down her cheeks as she clutched at herself. She could only have been about twelve years old._

_She wiped the tears away, and started to set about polishing the athame again. It slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She gulped, staring at it._

_“I am so sorry, Hiccup.” Heather whispered._

_  
_-:-

  
Jack yanked his hands away from the altar, his eyes snapping open and flashing furiously as they locked onto Heather. “You lied to me.”

 _“Jack?”_ she whimpered, letting go of his cloak – which she must have grabbed in an attempt to stop him – and taking a step back.

 _“You lied to me!”_ He snapped. _“You told me you’d never spilled blood! You told me this bloody ritual happened before your time! You LIED!”_

 _“Jack!”_ Astrid grabbed Jack from behind, pinning his arms to his sides before he could lunge at Heather. _“Jack, it wasn’t her fault! She was only following orders-”_

 _“IF I HADN’T COME HERE MYSELF, I WOULD HAVE NEVER SEEN HICCUP AGAIN!!!”_ Jack howled, freeing his hands and clawing against Astrid’s hold. “ _IF HE HAD TRIED, HE WOULD HAVE SUFFOCATED!!”_

 _“I’m sorry!”_ Heather wailed. _“If I could do anything I could to take it back, I would! You know I would!”_

 _“So it’s **permanent?!”**_ Jack roared, scrabbling even more. Blood welts started to rise on Astrid’s arms.

 _“NO!”_ Heather cried, grabbing Jack’s flailing arms. _“Stop struggling! No – it’s not permanent. But I need the blood of the chief to break the spell! The chief must give it willingly!”_

Jack stared at her, his eyes like their own bolts of ice. _“How.”_

Heather blinked at him, caught off-guard both at his abrupt halt in his flailing, and at the demanding tone in his question. _“How?”_ She repeated.

_“How do we convince the Chief to break the spell?”_

_“Oh, Jack.”_ Astrid sighed, gently releasing him. _“We’ve been trying for years. Since day one. I’m not sure anyone can convince Stoick to free Hiccup from the enchantment.”_

Jack frowned. No – that wasn’t a good enough answer. He could feel his powers growing again as he got more and more agitated. Frosty ferns were starting to spread across the temple floor.

 _“That wasn’t an answer.”_ Jack snarled. The frost curled around him. Heather gasped as she watched. _“Nothing you people say is an answer! You just lie!”_ He jabbed a finger at Heather. “ _You lied!”_  he spun around to Astrid _“You’ve lied! Heck, even Hiccup! He said he’d come back! He said he wanted to see me again! But he never did, and now my Kingdom lies in ruins – and my only hope of saving it is a tribe full of LIARS!”_

Ice lashed out around the room furiously in fitful gales. Jack’s fingers were claws as he tried to grasp at some semblance of control, but his hands were tingling furiously, his throat was thick and air was slow coming.

 _“Jack! Please, listen! I can explain Hiccup’s actions.”_ Astrid pleaded. _“Just calm down and listen to me!”_

 _“He should be justifying himself!”_ Jack spat. “ _I waited for him for six years. I waited out thirty-six long, painful, horrible full moons for him! For what?! What was I waiting for!”_

 _“For love.”_ Heather spoke out. Jack whipped around, staring at her. She continued. “ _You… you just said… the full moon effects you?”_

Nodding tightly, Jack glowered at her. “ _So?”_

Heather gave him a watery smile. _“I think I know how we can solve all these problems. I know how to convince the chief. First though, there are things you need to know…”_

  
-:-

  
As it turns out, the Archipelago Mountains knew about the shadows. They had been prophesising the shadow’s coming for generations. The day their prince had fallen from his dragon, being strangled from some unseen force, the people knew they had to prepare.

Within a matter of hours, the falcon had shown up, its feathers pulled about in its haste. The falcon had only confirmed the Muthan’s fears: Caruselle had fallen. It’s King and Queen were captives, the Prince no-where to be found. Their informant was hiding underground with the resistance, waiting for the response of the Munthan Tribes.

 _“Informant?”_ Jack asked. Astrid nodded.

 _“Johann.”_ She replied gently. Jack blinked. Of course.

 _“If Johann was in contact with you, why didn’t he tell me about Hiccup’s enchantment?!”_  he asked numbly.

Astrid sighed. _“He was supposed to. He was supposed to bring you here to allow Hiccup to explain himself. But… things got in the way of that plan…”_

Indeed, they had. On his first attempt to find the Southern Prince, Johann was met with an empty Palace – the Royals vacationing in the Summer Palace in the southern-most region of Caruselle. The second time, Johann had met with Jack’s parents to explain the situation. Whilst Nicolas and Thiana were indeed gravely concerned, they knew the trip to the Archipelago Mountains would be far too dangerous for their then thirteen-year-old son.

The third time, Johann sought out Jack alone. It had been the midwinter after Jack’s sixteenth birthday – surely the Prince could make the journey now? Only Johann had seen something that had made him walk away, resigned.

 _“What exactly did he see?”_ Jack growled.

Heather bit her own lip. “ _You were with your guard. Playing in the snow. And then Johann said you’d slipped and fallen, and your guard followed you… and laughing, you kissed him.”_

Jack was stunned. He remembered that. He and Aster had been in the city market, just enjoying the festivities. Jack had intended to go alone, but to quote Aster; “Over my dead body.”

…Funny how things work out.

They had fallen. Aster had moaned about always having to save Jack’s ass, even from slippery cobble-stones, to which Jack had just laughed and pressed a sloppy kiss to Aster’s cheek, proclaiming “My hero!”

It had been innocent. It had been childish. It had been purely to annoy Aster, who had grumbled in disgust for at least five minutes after.

It had also, without Jack’s knowledge, been the undoing of any defence or argument Hiccup could bring against his father. It had also sewn the first seed of doubt.

Jack groaned into his hands. “ _Johann told Hiccup?”_

Astrid shook her head. _“No, he told Stoick. Stoick then took great joy in stating how he had been right; Hiccup’s Sel’a was just a Southerner with no compulsion under the full moon. Whilst Hiccup suffered each month as a Moon Mourner should, Stoick painted this picture of you being with hundreds of beautiful aristocrats of the South, attending moonlit Galas. Hiccup has spent years of fighting and ignoring him… but when you didn’t turn up with Johann… and then the story of the kiss…”_

Jack moaned into his folded arms, slumping down to the floor where he could knead the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I didn’t.” he mumbled. “I even missed my sixteenth birthday, because it was full moon night. Aster was like a big brother to me, I couldn’t… I would never…” unbidden, the tears rolled down his cheeks. “ _Every full moon, it was Hiccup! I wouldn’t let anyone else touch me! I-I wouldn’t-”_ he sobbed brokenly. Hesitantly, Heather knelt next to him, running her hand up and down his back soothingly.

Jack barked out a hysterical laugh. “ _I’ve officially lost everything then! My home, my family, my best friend, and now my Sel’a’s faith. I’m truly alone.”_

Heather and Astrid merely exchanged a glance, before both turning back to Jack with soft words of comfort. None of the three noticed the footsteps walking away from the scene – leather on the stone floor – as their unannounced eavesdropper left, his own tears threatening to fall.

  
-:-

  
It had taken a while to calm Jack down, but then Heather telling Jack her plan had helped greatly. He’d listened in silence, his body still wracked with his heavy breaths, but once she’d finished, he’d shakily got to his feet, and simply asked what had to be done.

But in honesty, there was a lot to be done. For in order for the plan to work, Jack would have to carry out a ritual. A _Full Moon_ ritual. As a fully fledged Moon Maiden. Which meant more lessons.

Jack glared at his completely frozen bowl again. “ _How come there aren’t more Moon Maidens, anyway?”_ he asked, focusing on the water to see if he could unfreeze it again.

Heather sighed. _“There are. Every Munthan tribe has a Moon Maiden. The Auganers, The Hysterniks – even the Besikians have Cera!”_ Heather frowned. _“That explains why Dagur took you, actually. Cera is his tribe’s Moon Maiden, but she was his sister too.”_

Jack looked up at her, puzzled. “ _How does that explain anything?”_

Heather blushed, and started fiddling with the cuff of her robe. _“It is common practice that, when a future Chief comes of age, he marries his tribe’s Moon Maiden.”_

Jack blinked at her. Once. Twice. _“Wait. What?!”_ he spun around to where Astrid was diligently cleaning the altar. “ _Did you know about this?”_

Astrid, to Jack surprise, looked up and glared at him. “ _Yes.”_ She growled, then went back to work.

Jack frowned at her. _“What?”_ he turned back to Heather. “ _What aren’t you telling me this time?”_

Heather’s lips pressed into a hard line, her eyes searching Jack’s face, like somewhere between his eyebrows was the answer she was looking for – the answer that wouldn’t send Jack spiralling off into another frozen frenzy. After a few strained moments, Astrid flung her cleaning rag to the floor with a sodden squelch, before spinning on her heel and facing Jack head on.

 _“Hiccup became of age two years ago. The Chief is a stickler for tradition; he married his Moon Maiden, Valka. So, by all accounts, Hiccup should do the same. At least, to Stoick’s way of thinking.”_ She rolled her eyes. _“He tried to go against the Moon Dragon, by forcing Hiccup and Heather together, despite the fact that Hiccup was pretty adamant the Moon Dragon had already paired him with you.”_ She tsked. “ _As if his tears and screams of agony didn’t confirm that.”_

Jack blanched as he listened. “ _S-so, you and Hiccup?”_ he asked quietly, glancing over at Heather. She shook her head wildly.

 _“I’ve never seen Hiccup as anything more than a friend and leader. The most feeling I have for him is the guilt I carry for partaking in his imprisonment.”_ She wiped at her eyes frantically. Jack’s shoulders slumped.

_“So what happened?”_

Astrid, at that point, smirked, running her fingers through her plait. “ _The dragon intervened, of course. A huge wind, the likes no-one has ever seen before, blew the ceremony to pieces. It nearly blew Heather off the mountain, before I grabbed her.”_

At this, Heather spoke. _“Never before had I touched anyone skin on skin. It’s forbidden, for the exact reason of what happened.”_

Jack looked between them with a raised eyebrow. Astrid didn’t answer immediately, she just strode up and took Heather’s hand in her own. _“The Chief might have got away with taking Hiccup from you, what with your absence. But I was not about to let him take my Heather from me.”_

Jack stared at her in a long silence. That…that explained a lot. Not in the least why he felt absolutely no threat for Hiccup’s affections from Astrid, despite how close the two obviously were. He rolled his shoulders. _“So, the wedding was off?”_

Astrid laughed. “ _You aren’t upset? Hiccup was nearly married to someone else, and you aren’t upset? Fares, when I told Hiccup what Dagur was intending with you, he nearly broke the forge!”_

Jack shrugged. _“Heather is not Dagur. She seems happy with you.”_ The two women blushed furiously. He gave them a weak smile. _“When’s the wedding then?”_

Astrid laughed and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, as Heather looked on, shaking her head. _“Not the issue right now, Frosty.”_ Astrid quipped, flipping her plait back over her shoulder. _“For now, focus. You need to memorise the blessing. Heather, do you have the silver?”_

Heather shook her head. _“No. I thought it best if Jack fetched it.”_

Astrid’s face went pale. “ _J-Jack? Why would you-”_

Jack, however, jumped at the chance to get some fresh air and stretch his legs. He abandoned his half-melted pot of ice, clambering to his feet and rushing to Heather’s side. _“I’ll go! Where do I get silver?”_

She gave him a small smile. “ _The blacksmith.”_  
  


-:-

  
It was with no small amount of trepidation that Jack made his way through the village, conscious of the whispers that followed his every step. Astrid hadn’t bothered giving him a disguise this time; she had simply shrugged and said “ _They need to get used to you.”_

So, Jack made his way down the slippery path to the forge, decked in his bright blue cloak that caught the eyes of the Munthan villagers like a firework. He kept his eyes to the crudely drawn map Astrid had given him, as an excuse for not meeting the eyes of the mountain people. He could still hear them muttering though. Self-conscious, he gripped his cloak around him tighter.

He finally made his way to the squat building that sat on the precarious edge of the outcrop. He fumbled with his map for a second, trying to collect himself. Heather had told him that the blacksmith was a friendly, non-judgemental man with a laid-back character, but to be careful, as he was also a close friend of the chief.

 _“If all else fails,”_ Heather said carefully _“ask his apprentice. He wouldn’t deny you.”_

And on that cryptic note she ended, refusing to say anything further. Jack scowled at the memory, wondering why the girls had been so evasive. With a sigh, he gathered his courage and pushed the rag of a door aside. The forge was so dark, barely lit by the glowing embers of the dying furnace. He stumbled, tripping over some strange contraption that had been left in the doorway. “ _Hello_?” he called “ _I’m looking for Gobber? Heather sent me for the silver…?”_

 _“Aye lad! We’re in the back!”_ A voice called in answer. Jack straightened, pulling at his clothes self-consciously. Eventually, a short man with a long, fair beard woven into twisted braids lumbered into the forge, followed by his apprentice. Jack swallowed hard.

Hiccup’s eyes flashed over to him, widening momentarily before flicking away. Jack bit his tongue. _Why are you ignoring me?!_ A voice inside him screamed.

The blacksmith – Gobber – staggered over to Jack. Jack noticed the pegged leg and the hook for a hand, but didn’t comment. He smiled at Gobber instead, hoping his quivering knees didn’t betray his nerves too badly. Gobber grinned back toothily. _“So you’re the Carusellen lad everyone’s been talking about! Caused quite a stir at training yesterday.”_

Jack blushed. _“I had no intention of doing so. Astrid just thought I could do with some air.”_

 _“Risky move on her part.”_  Gobber remarked, raising an eyebrow. From the back of the forge, Jack heard a loud _CLANG._ He glanced up, only to see the silhouette of his kindred at the furnace, shovelling coal onto the fire. He was muttering, but Jack couldn’t hear what he was saying from this distance. Gobber shook his head. _“Well, you’re out and about now, hm? That shows guts. Heather sent you for the silver, yes?”_

Jack nodded. Gobber started shuffling about the forge, pulling about sacks of ore and muttering. In the background, Jack could hear the rhythmic scrape of the shovel, followed by the sound of cascading coal on the fire-bed. His eyes flitted over to Hiccup, only to have his breath hitch. It was hot in the forge, obviously. But how had he not noticed that Hiccup had stripped himself bare of his tunic? The knight was only in his boots and breeches, his chest streaked in soot and sweat. The only thing adorning his top half was a familiar circular pendant… and these strange, dark runes that looked like they had been inked into his skin. They travelled across his shoulders, twisting down his arms like ribbons, where they finally encircled his wrists. Worst of all was the way the runes encircled the base of his throat.

A memory of brass manacles and collar came unbidden to Jack’s mind. His stomach churned.

 _“Well, it looks like I’m going to need to check my supplies.”_ Gobber announced, jarring Jack from his thoughts. He turned back to face Gobber with a polite smile plastered onto his face. Gobber glanced over at his apprentice, then at Jack, before mumbling “ _I suppose I can trust you two alone?”_

Jack twitched. The sound of shovelling stopped, before continuing with a new vigour. Jack gritted his teeth. _“I don’t see any reason why not.”_ He replied tightly. Gobber eyeballed Jack for a moment, before throwing a glance in Hiccup’s direction. The munthan prince was still – very pointedly – focused on reviving the forge furnace.

 _“I see.”_  Gobber said softly. Then he shrugged. _“Actually, I might have some good silver in my own stock at home. Might be a while, so you”_ he waved a hand at Jack _“get comfortable, and you-”_ he turned back to Hiccup with hands on his hips “ _don’t break anything whilst I’m away.”_

 _“Wouldn’t dream of it, Gobber.”_ Came Hiccup’s reply, his eyes still fixed on the steadily rising flames.

With that, Gobber pulled out a large wicker basket and made his way out. He caught Jack’s eye, and made a point of winking at him before venturing out into the bright daylight. Jack stared after him. He was certainly not anything Jack had imagined.

Jack sighed, looking around the forge again. Now his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, he could see the array of tools and gadgets that were littered around the place, all caked in at least one layer of soot. He bit his lip, clasping his hands as he wandered further into the workshop. The spyglass at his hip knocked against the wood of the workbenches.

Hiccup finally got to his feet, but instead of facing Jack he turned away – heading to the back of the workshop where a number of small projects lay in wait. Jack watched as he walked away, his own stomach clenching. He looked away, turning his attention to the clutter that lined the workshop walls. Broken widgets, boxes of nails, tools lined up on a rack of hooks… Jack frowned as something caught his eye.

He took the long, box-object from its perch, blowing the dust from its surface. With careful fingers, he traced the carvings on the box’s lid, inhaling sharply when he realised what he was looking at; peonies. Carusellen peonies. There was wisteria as well, entwined in elegant circlets around the box’s edges. Carvings of daisy-chains skirted the box’s sides, twisted with poppies and clover. All prominent depictions of Caruselle.

“It’s a puzzle box.”

Jack yelped and nearly dropped the box. He spun around, box grasped to his chest, and met Hiccup’s gaze. He was leaning against his work station, his hands gripping the table’s edge. When Jack had turned to face him, his gaze promptly dropped to the floor, his right hand lifting awkwardly to rub the back of his neck. “I… I made it when I got back here. Caruselle is a really beautiful place,” he waved a hand at the box “lots of wildflowers.”

Jack gnawed at his lip, looking back down at the puzzle box. “It was beautiful. Now, it’s just a warzone.”

Hiccup winced, then sighed, dragging his eyes up from where they had settled on the floor. He seemed to be forcing himself to look at Jack. Jack shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the implications just getting a bit too much to handle. _Am I that bad to look at?_

“I’m so sorry, Jack. I heard about the attack, we all did.”

“I know.” Jack whispered.

Hiccup looked taken aback. “You… you did?” Then his eyes widened, panicked. “Jack – it’s not what you think. I would have been there the moment I heard, but-”

“But you would have been too late, anyway.” Jack replied coolly. “And you couldn’t go, because of the enchantment.”

Hiccup blinked at him. “Jack…” he murmured softly, a small furrow in his brow where they twisted in confusion. “Why are you talking like this?”

Jack fiddled with the puzzle box in his hands. The spyglass at his side clinked as it moved. “I… I should have gone East, shouldn’t have I? It would have been easier that way. Instead of coming North. It would have been better.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jack sighed, putting down the puzzle box and hugging his arms around himself. “We could have just… carried on, I guess? Just, kept living the way we were. That way I wouldn’t know about any of this.” He waved his hands around.

Hiccup was only made more confused. “Are you talking about the workshop?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t reach out to me in six years!” Jack erupted. Hiccup flinched away, as if Jack had struck him. But Jack didn’t stop there.

“You could have sent a falcon, just to tell me you’d made it home alive! You could have told me what your father was planning with the enchantment, my family would have come to your defence! You could have _explained_ all this to me yourself in the past week!! But all you’ve done since I arrived here is _ignore my existence!_ All the while, I learned recently, thinking that I have a line of lovers waiting back in Caruselle! Not even giving me a chance to speak! Where do I stand in this, Hiccup? Where?!”

It was like a deep-rooted dam had suddenly collapsed, and the words that had been simmering in the back of Jack’s mind had suddenly risen to a boiling point. The floodgates were open. Whilst he’d been so happy, and so relieved that he had found Hiccup, now there were a thousand unanswered questions that demanded reprieve. And he shot every one of them at Hiccup, who could only stand and watch as Jack screamed at him, tears flowing freely from his eyes. Did he even know he was crying? Hiccup wasn’t sure.

Jack took a long, broken breath, before finally sobbing out “You said you would come back. You promised! We had only just met, and the first promise you made me, _you broke._ You _broke your promise, Hiccup!”_

“I had no choice, Jack.” Hiccup replied softly. His own hands were balled into fists, his fingernails cutting crescent moons into the skin of his palm. “I was never given any choice.”

“We did!” Jack snapped angrily. “We offered you a place as a knight-in-training, you could have stayed!”

“I know!” Hiccup yelled back, finally losing his grip – on both his hands and the situation. He flung his hands above his head, sweeping them down over his eyes and rubbing his face furiously. “You think I haven’t regretted that! But back then I knew I had to tell my father I was alive – or he might have marched on the South. Which – by the way – would be _really bad.”_ His hands flew around him animatedly. Jack almost had to back away to prevent from being thwacked in the flurry. “I wanted to stay – Fares! Please believe me, Jack! It has killed me to stay away! But I thought-” Hiccup stopped, biting his tongue.

Jack blinked, then frowned, slowly crossing his arms. “You thought…?”

Hiccup inhaled slowly, closing his eyes dejectedly. “The people of the south… they don’t feel the pull of the moon like we do. If we are separated from our Sel’as during the full moon… it’s torture.”

“I know.” Jack sniped. Hiccup peered at him, frowning, before continuing. “I thought… since you probably had others to protect you and care for you… you’d be okay without me? You’d be happy… And I could just put up with the full moon on my own. I didn’t want to pull you into all… _this.”_ His arms waved again, gesturing at the entire room. The entire mountain. The entire situation in general. Hiccup sighed. “I wanted you to be happy.”

Jack glared at Hiccup, chewing on his lip. “Well, that worked out swell, didn’t it?”

“Jack…”

“Do you want to know the worst part?” Jack laughed out hysterically. “The worst part is, despite all of this – all the lies, the broken promises, and being blatantly ignored for six years – I still love you!” Jack could feel the tear fall, but he was too angry to care. “At least, I still _want_ to love you. Because honestly, I don’t even know you. Wonder why that is?”

At his words, Hiccup took a step forward, hands outstretched, placating. “I know. I know – I screwed up. I am _so sorry,_ Jack-”

“Don’t touch me!” Jack yelped, backing away and stumbling right into some strange, broken contraption with lots of spinning disks. Hiccup slowly dropped his hands, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable.

“I’ve already lost you, haven’t I?” he murmured. Jack glowered at him, and Hiccup shook his head. “Being kindred doesn’t automatically equal a happily ever after. It is the catalyst for strong emotions, yes. But be those emotions love or hate… that is up to the bonded pair.”

His eyes met Jack’s, and Jack felt pinned by the weight in that gaze. “Do you hate me, Jack?”

Jack’s breath caught in his throat. Did he _hate_ Hiccup? He thought back through those years of writhing in agony, hidden from the suffocating moonlight, tears rolling down his cheeks uncontrollably. His only balm in those times was the silent mercy of sleep, the image of a freckled boy in badly fitting clothes, reaching out for Jack desperately, although always just out of his grasp.   

His memory stretched back even further; that same boy in chains, bruises covering his body, his eyes solely fixed on Jack and Jack alone, wide as moons. A touch that felt like lightning. A promise that neither knew would never be kept.

Jack took a shuddering breath. “I hate the distance between us. I hate that you tried to step back and leave me behind, without even talking to me. I understand you only thought you were helping, by releasing me or something. And yes, I hate you for doing that. But hate _you?_ Hate you on _principle?”_ Jack shook his head slowly, a disbelieving smile on his face. “I don’t think I can ever do that.”

His eyes flicked up to meet Hiccup’s, determination burning him on the inside. “You haven’t lost me. Not ever. _But-”_ He raised a finger. “If you ever try to leave me behind, or just give up on me ever again-”

“I won’t.” Hiccup breathed out, taking another step forward. “I _can’t._ Trust me, Jack. I will do everything in my power to fight for this. For _us.”_

Jack gave him a sad smile. “Love is one thing, Hiccup. It’s unconditional, and it hurts. But trust?” he bit his lip, “That is something we need to work on.”

Hiccup nodded slowly, offering one hand to Jack. “As long as there is _something_ to work on.”

Jack glanced at the offered hand, which shook ever so slightly. He bit his somewhat abused lip again, caught between holding himself back in some show of dignity and pride, and just giving into the impulse to be near the Munthan prince. Hiccup’s eyes on him just made it so hard to think.

With a sigh, Hiccup looked away, towards the furnace. The firelight danced in his eyes. Jack sucked in a slow breath before swallowing his pride. It went down in a big lump. Shakily, he reached out his own hand and tangled his thin, pale fingers with Hiccup’s darker, freckled ones. Jack sighed – these were the same delicate hands that had offered him friendship all those years ago. Very purposefully, Jack ran the pad of his thumb over the back 0f Hiccup’s hand.

Hiccup stiffened, slowly turning his face to look at Jack head on again. Jack shrugged, giving him a half smile. “Friendship is a good place to start, right?”

For the first time since he had arrived, he saw Hiccup smile. A proper smile. And yes, he did still have that little gap between his teeth, and Fares help him if Jack didn’t find that entirely endearing.

“Friendship is a very good place to start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah… I owe you all an apology. I wanted this (and chapter 10 now) up by Xmas. And, well, that didn’t happen. :/  
> Bottom line here: I had to split Chapter 9 into two, because I was halfway through the chapter and…like, 6K words in. :F But seriously, this little chat was much needed. And it was hard to write, because it’s the beginning of a healing process and…well… yeah.
> 
> Happy belated Christmas, folks!


	10. Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to SwiftWings38, for agreeing to Beta Read for me. Your insight is greatly appreciated :)

_Chapter X_

**_ Allies _ **

  
As Jack plodded back into the Moon Temple, both Heather’s and Astrid’s heads whipped up in unison, eyeballing him expectantly, abandoning their herbal tea. Without a word, Jack dumped the armful of silver ingots that Gobber had graciously donated to them on to the temple floor.

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “ _So…how did it go?”_

Jack gave her a pointed look. “ _How did what go?”_

She fiddled with one of the buckles on her shoulder guards. “ _Oh, I don’t know. That inevitable conversation that you needed to have with the Prince?”_ She gave him a very meaningful look, and Jack let his shoulders slump. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging.

_“We talked. I…vented. I guess.”_

Astrid’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “ _How did he take that?”_

Jack made a point of not looking at her, instead staring at the suede, fur-lined boots on his feet. “ _He was pretty apologetic, I suppose. He’s promised me he will not give up on us again… though at the moment I’m not sure how much I trust his promises.”_ He glanced over at Heather. “ _Is it strange that I’m still fighting when he never did?”_

Heather did not react as Jack had expected. Her eyes widened, as if horrified. _“What makes you think that?”_

Jack never had a chance to reply.Without warning, Astrid had sprung upon him from behind, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him as she pinned him to the floor. Her face was a blotchy red, and she shook with fury.

 _“You have NO idea what you are saying!”_ Astrid spat angrily. _“You are still fighting? Tell me, did you ever think to find Hiccup yourself? Steal into the night on horseback and find your own answers?"_ Jack reddened at her words, trying to pull himself out from under her. She merely tightened her hold on his wrists, looming over him. Jack was sure, had he not been important to her best friend, there would have been a knife at his throat.

 _“Do not act the wronged lover, when you are both to blame! Hiccup **tried.** Fares, he tried so damn hard. He ran away after the close call with Heather, determined to find you. He ran off during the damned full moon, knowing his father could not pursue him whilst Valka needed her Sel’a’s presence. If Heather and I had not followed…” _her eyes pierced him, “ _he would not be here to love you now. We dragged his dying body from the forests of BenHul. He kept coughing, saying he couldn’t breathe. He would have drowned in his own blood, Jack!”_    

Jack stared at her, dumbstruck. Her words struck a chord inside him, stirring a slow sense of horror in Jack’s stomach. He knew exactly which full moon she was talking about. It had been the night his chest had burned so much. It was that time he’d clawed at it until he bled. It had been that time – at the age of sixteen – when he’d had that huge argument with his father about hiding the extent of the damage.

He’d thought it was just the Moon Mourning getting worse. But now, Jack realised with a jolt of horror, he knew it was something much worse.

A Death Cry. He’d been feeling Hiccup’s pain.

They had wrapped his hands in silk since that day. What had the Munthan’s done to Hiccup?

 _“Hiccup was so fixed upon finding you, despite his own curse,”_ Astrid continued loosening her grip a little. _“He was never a warrior. Before Alvin took him, my friend was just a small boy with a mechanic’s gift and a brilliant mind. He was scrawny – useless in battle, with only wit as his weapon. If he could avoid battle, he would have. He believed in peace.”_ A sad smile graced her lips. _“He still does, I think.”_

Jack watched Astrid as her eyes seemed to lose focus, as if seeing something far in the distance. She shook her head, coming back to herself, sitting up on Jack before rolling back onto the balls of her feet. She stood fluidly, offering Jack a hand. He accepted silently, meekly listening as Astrid continued.

 _“When he came back, he was weak. He’d been through a crucible in his time as a slave. We feared Alvin may have broken him for life. But you,”_ Astrid looked at Jack head on, _“you gave him a reason to fix himself. He got stronger, faster, and smarter. He trained harder than all the other knights put together._ _He earned his rank as Captain, and became the best fighter of all of us. All because – despite the hell Alvin put him through – Hiccup knew you were out there.”_

She crossed her arms, glaring at Jack pointedly. _“Now. Can you truly say Hiccup gave up on fighting for you?”_

Jack fumbled with the fastening on his hood. _“He said he wanted to leave me to my life in Caruselle.”_

Astrid nodded grimly. _“He intended to. But believe me, as soon as Stoick had passed on to the Phoenix Realms, and the enchantment was broken, I don’t think any level of self-sacrifice would stop Hiccup from going out to find you. Even if you did have a lover.”_

Jack scowled. _“I told you. I feel the moon – I didn’t have a-”_

 _“We know, Jack,”_ Heather finally said, wrapping her hands around Jack’s own icy cold ones. _“But the rest of the Berkians don’t.”_

Jack sighed, his eyes lingering on their clasped hands. Heather’s hands were small and delicate, whereas Hiccup’s had been warm and encompassing, larger than Jack’s, with long, clever fingers that were dotted with a thousand freckles. Jack felt his chest warm. He wanted to hold those hands again.

 _“No, they don’t,”_ Jack replied softly, raising his gaze to give Heather a pointed look. _“Not yet.”_

 _  
_-:-

  
The next few days were a hectic blur to Jack. Heather had him memorising the various uses and properties of magical herbs, along with sacred chants and Munthic runes that would inevitably be used in the Full Moon Ritual. It took hours of exhausting work, and much patience. Jack was not used to the intense workload – it was worse than staying inside with his tutors in Caruselle. His tendency to fidget and start staring into space finally had Heather snapping at him to go out and use some energy. _“Make yourself useful,”_ were her very words.

To this, Jack had pointed out that last time he’d stepped foot in the commons of Berk, he’d been faced with an angry hoard. Astrid snorted. “ _And you think that didn’t go unaddressed?”_

When Jack stared at her in disbelief, she shook her head with a derisive laugh. _“You have no idea how much Hiccup does for you.”_

Which is how Jack found himself wandering around the Berkian village, garnering the stares and whispers of most of its inhabitants.

He’d forgone his cloak today. The weather was strangely balmy, and Jack was quite comfortable in his breeches and Munthan-style boots – his last pair filled with mud and water, the cracked leather not salvageable. His top half covered only by his outer tunic. It was freeing, having his arms uncovered for once. If anything, he felt like he fit in more - the only aspect of his clothing that alienated him being the bright blue of his tunic and the silvery embroidery on his short sleeves.

But a stubborn part of Jack told him not to care. He was Prince of Caruselle - home of the descendants of the Blue Phoenix. He could wear a little embroidery if he wanted to.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to be any help to anyone, though. Especially when the Berkians would simply shy away whenever he approached, never looking him in the eye. A part of Jack wanted to head down to the forge, to see if he could help Hiccup or Gobber. Gobber was a nice man – he was certainly friendlier and more open to Jack than the rest of the village. But Jack knew if he went running to Hiccup, he would never gain the respect of the Berkian people. If he was going to do this, he had to do it alone.

Straightening his shoulders, Jack marched on, face set. He kept moving through the village, taking in the sights that he hadn’t allowed himself to when he’d been sneaking around with Astrid.

The village was a strange array of houses, some stand-alone wooden cabins, some homes that were hewn from the mountainside itself. Some houses even teetered perilously on the edge of the cliff, with flags flying in the chilled breeze. In the distance, Jack could hear the cry of wild dragons, as well as see their silhouettes diving under the clouds below them.

Children ran around the place, giggling brightly as they chased tiny dragons – the size of cats – around the village square. The adults were busy with their own chores – some sharpening various tools of trade, some whittling, and some weaving. Women gathered at the well to collect great urns of water for their laundry runs. Men strode away into the woodlands peppered over the mountainside, axes slung over their shoulders, laughing merrily at each other’s raunchy jokes.

It was peaceful, Jack decided with a small smile. It also certainly had its own rugged character – a little rough around the edges, its people loud and boisterous, showing their affections for each other with rowdy slaps to the back and suffocating bear hugs, as opposed to the gentle hand-shakes and courteous bows and smiles of home.

It made Caruselle look stiff and stuffy.

One stout fellow clapped his friend on the back as he chortled. It reminded Jack of how his father would put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and squeeze gently. It was reassuring. It was familiar. It also made him feel a sharp pang of loneliness.

He wrapped his arms around his middle as he kept walking, looking about the village with a sad smile on his face. He wasn’t expecting anyone to speak to him. If anything, he thought he would be blatantly ignored – like a spectre. So it's no wonder he jumped about five foot in the air when a bony hand came to rest on his shoulder. With a yelp, he shot round to face whoever it was that had touched him, only to be met with the old woman he’d seen when he’d first woke up on Berk Mountain. She gave him a kindly smile. Jack blinked at her.

_“Can I help you?”_

The woman smiled and nodded. Jack raised an eyebrow. _“Alright. What would you like me to do?”_

The woman pointed to her throat and shook her head. Jack cocked his head slightly.

_“You can’t speak?”_

She shook her head, still smiling. With that established, she gently pulled him to one side, taking his wrist in her thin, frail – but surprisingly strong – hand. She stopped in front of a large lean-to that rested on the mountain face. The front was open, like a shed, revealing a large loom and a spinning wheel. The walls were covered by beautifully embroidered scenes of dragons amongst the mountains that rose from the clouds. Each dragon was so detailed, it felt like they could jump off the fabric into reality itself. Then again, Jack had a feeling this woman knew more of magic than appearances would say. He wouldn’t be surprised if the dragons _could_ come to life.

The woman took herself to the spinning wheel and sat down. She back glanced at Jack, then looked at the loom pointedly. _“You want me to weave?”_

She nodded, her thin smile broadening. Jack laughed. _“I can barely tie a fisherman’s knot! Are you sure you want my help?”_

She sighed, getting up again to pick up a staff that leant on the lean-to’s wall. With it, she started etching Munthic runes into the clay soil beneath their feet. Jack peered at it, pulling at all he could remember from his lessons with Heather. Finally, he deciphered bits and pieces of the message, stringing its meaning together.

“Meta es Sel’a d’Relva. Meta es Kirfynd. Mara es ceska d’caro a elat esa kirfynd. Vesno meta kenes vala.”

_You are kindred of Prince. You are one of us. I am giving you chance to be one of us. But you must try._

Jack nodded slowly. _“I will try my best. Please teach me.”_

With that, the woman gave him a deep nod of approval, before puttering over to the loom and picking up the weave, motioning for Jack to come join her. Jack rolled his eyes and followed duly. Whilst Jack knew he was an outsider to most of the tribe, it was good to know that there were some – like the old woman and Gobber – that would welcome him as Hiccup’s partner.  


-:-

  
It had been a long day at the forge. Gobber had ended up tripping over Hiccup’s self-loading catapult and put his knee out, meaning that a very apologetic Hiccup had to stay behind and pick up the orders. Meril had obviously had a kitchen catastrophe and had managed to burn  holes clear through half her cooking pots. At the same time, Snotlout had asked for his sword to be balanced. And, on top of that, Hiccup needed to make about a hundred nails and rivets for Sven to do house repairs.

Boring, tedious jobs. It had been a very long day.

He rolled his shoulders and swivelled his neck, trying to work out the knots of tension in his now aching muscles. Pulling on his long-sleeved tunic, as always – he didn’t like to walk around the village with his arms, scarred with ash and magic, on view – he made his way out of the forge and up the steep slope to the village square. It was a beautiful sky that met him, veined with wild, fiery colours as the sun began to sink beneath the clouds. Hiccup smiled to himself. Toothless would want to go flying.

He started back towards his home – the grand hut that sat on the higher outcrop, looking over the village ‘the way a chief should’ – when the sound of bright laughter caught his attention. Turning slowly, Hiccup stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide.

Jack sat on a stool just outside of Gothi’s workshop, wool tangled up around his hands and arms. Around him gathered most of the village’s children, laughing as Jack tried to untangle himself. He’d grin at them and laugh along, saying, “ _It’s alright for you to laugh! How exactly does this look like a cat’s cradle to you? Do cats even have cradles?”_

A warm smile spread over Hiccup’s face as one of the more kindly girls in the village, Ira, stepped forth and began to untangle him with gentle hands.

_“Tell us another story, Prince Jack! Tell us about the South!”_

Jack tapped his chin playfully, pretending to think. _“The South? I’m afraid the South is very boring. I don’t know many stories from the South.”_

 _“What stories were you told as a child, Your Highness?”_ Jack smiled at them fondly. _“My father was Nathern, so he told me all about his journeys to find my mother – his kindred. My favourite stories were about the Dragon Knights.”_

One of the little girls squealed. _“The Dragon Knights? He told you stories about our tribe?!”_

 _“_ Tâc” Jack replied, smiling. “ _But in his stories, it was Lady Valka that led them – the first woman to be both Moon Maiden and Dragon Knight.”_

The children nodded. _“She stopped a couple years ago, when Hiccup succeeded her. Now she travels a lot…”_ They all looked a little sad at this. Jack wondered whether it was because Valka had been so popular, or whether there was more to it.

One boy perked up, saying “ _Surely there must have been some adventures in your past, Prince Jack?”_

Jack bit his lip, unsure. The last couple of weeks had been enough of an ‘adventure’ for anyone, but he didn’t think those stories would be right for children. Humming to himself, he finally replied “ _Well… back when I was eleven, I did nearly get eaten by a bear…”_

The children gasped. Hiccup, who had now taken to leaning against the lean-to and listening in unnoticed, frowned at that. Meanwhile, Jack nodded earnestly. _“Oh yes. My family was spending a week with the Royalty of Dunbroche Isles. There was a girl there, Princess Merida, who loved riding off into the woods and having adventures. One day, I followed her… but I got lost. I ended up in the shadelands… the darkest, deepest part of the woods. Turns out a **terrible** _   _curse was put upon the previous king of the lands – King Mordu. He’d been transformed into a savage bear. Now, I don’t know if it was actually Mordu that I met in those woods, but it was certainly scary enough.”_

The children hung to his every word, their eyes huge as the edged closer to where Jack was sitting and talking animatedly. Hiccup stayed silent, listening, his fingers tapping against his breeches.

_“It was Princess Merida that saved the day in the end. She shot the creature – right  in the eye! - sending it away howling in pain. After that, I asked her to teach me.”_

_“You can shoot, Prince Jack?”_

Jack nodded, grinning. “ _Want me to show you?”_

He was met by a cacophony of loud cheering and excited babbling. One of the children – a scrawny boy with sandy hair - scurried off to fetch Jack a bow and quiver. He passed Hiccup’s hiding spot in the process, and paused, frowning at his prince. Hiccup winked and pressed a finger to his lips. The boy smiled and nodded, hurrying off on his original errand.

By the time he got back, Jack was standing in the square with a few makeshift targets set about the place. Jack thanked the boy as he handed Jack the bow and arrows. The boy merely glanced in Hiccup’s direction, smirking. “ _No worries, Prince Jack,”_ he chirped.

Jack took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. With one fluid movement, he strung his bow with a sleek arrow, drawing it back so that the string rested at the corner of his lip, the fletch kissing his skin. On the exhale, he let the arrow fly, hurtling through the chilled mountain air and flying true as it met its target at its dead centre. The whole process took merely seconds.

Jack smirked, then drew again, aiming at the next target. Then the next one. Then the next. Each time his aim was true, the arrow heads sinking deeply into the centre of the round, broken shields the children had gathered.

He spun on his heel, turning back to face his first target as he knocked his final arrow. This was a little trickier, but Merida had taught him well. He let the arrow bend slightly against the wood of the bow, before letting it fly. The arrow spun as it ripped through the air, hitting the first arrow and splitting it dead down the centre.

The children behind him gasped, before erupting into applause. Jack felt his cheeks warm at the attention. “It was nothing, really,” he mumbled to himself.

“Actually, that was pretty amazing.”

Jack froze, before spinning around, eyes locking on the speaker. Hiccup gave him a warm smile, crossing his arms. “I didn’t know you could shoot like that. I should have guessed, though – your parents bought you a bow from Johann for your birthday.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “You… you remember that?!”

Hiccup met his eyes dead on, his smile sincere. “I tried my best to remember everything I could from that night. And the following morning.”

Jack could feel his mouth opening and closing as he scrambled for something to say. In the end, Hiccup merely chuckled and reached out to Jack. This time, Jack made a point of not flinching away. The smile on Hiccup’s face seemed to get even warmer. Jack felt like the sun had just broken through the clouds.

Hiccup tentatively brushed a stray hair from Jack’s face, tucking it behind his ear, his green eyes tracing Jack’s features. “You used to have brown hair. Like chestnuts. In the morning sun it had gold in it. And your eyes-” a gentle thumb swept over Jack’s brow, and the aforementioned eyes fluttered slightly at the touch. “They were this really rich brown. I could count at least twelve shades of brown and gold in your eyes. I tried drawing them a few times, but charcoal doesn’t really do them justice.”

Jack shrugged, stepping away as his face turned deep red. “Brown’s a boring colour, anyway.”

Hiccup shook his head, quirking an eyebrow. “Brown is a gentle colour. It’s kind, and warm. It’s a mixture of many other colours, many different aspects.” _Like you._

Jack bit his lip. “So what is white then?”

Hiccup thought for a moment, before giving Jack a toothy grin. “Brown is the mixing of many colours in paint. White is the mixing of many colours in light. And just because your eyes are blue now doesn’t make them any more or less beautiful than they were.” He winked. “You haven’t changed, Jack - there’s just more magic now. And just so you know…” Hiccup leaned forward, ducking slightly to whisper at Jack’s ear. Jack shivered as warm breath caressed his cheek and earlobe, “I thought you were beautiful six years ago. Nothing has changed.”

Jack could feel the tops of his ears burning, his face was so red. He couldn’t meet Hiccup’s eyes when the Mûnthan stepped back. He kept his eyes lowered as he focused on his breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. One. Two.

After a couple moments, Jack realised he’d been fixing his gaze on Hiccup’s collarbone. Just beneath his tunic, Jack could make out the dark brown, swirling etchings inked into Hiccup’s neck. The image sobered him immediately.

His eyes flicked upward to meet Hiccup’s again, who was still smiling at him. That smile faltered, however, at the shuttered look in Jack eyes. “Jack? What’s wrong?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Thank you. Really. I... I’m glad you could see that in me when I couldn’t. But I guess I’m just… I can’t…” He let go of his breath, fast and frustrated. “Why is it after I got you away from that slaver, do I find you came home to a set of brand new chains?”

Hiccup’s expression darkened, his face falling. “My people take protection to an extreme.”

Jack chewed on his lip. “I’m surprised they let you keep that, then.” He gestured at the compass still hanging at Hiccup’s neck. Hiccup glanced down at it, his lip tugging upward in a bitter grimace.

“It wasn’t easy, but I wouldn’t let them take it from me.”

Jack waited for further explanation, but when none was forthcoming, and Hiccup remained silent – wrapped in his thoughts, it seemed – Jack worried his lip a bit more. The skin was chapped and cracked, battered by the cold winds that howled around the mountains. As if it was finally giving up the ghost, Jack winced as the skin on his lip finally cracked, hissing as blood dribbled down his chin.

“Fares damn it,” he cursed, dabbing at it clumsily with his fingers. Suddenly, careful fingers were prying his hands away, holding a small piece of cloth to his open cut. “You never managed to kick that habit, huh?” was Hiccup’s airy comment. “Did I not say you’d hurt yourself?”

“Shurrup,” Jack mumbled, letting Hiccup dab at his lip carefully. Hiccup snorted at Jack’s feeble attempts to pull away from his care, like a small kitten waving its paws around in the air half-heartedly. With his free hand he held Jack by the chin, steadying him as he wiped away the last remnants of blood. “There,” he murmured. “All better.”

“Thank you, mother,” Jack replied sarcastically. Hiccup just raised a playful eyebrow at him.

Neither of the boys had really noticed their audience had slowly crept away during their talk. Perhaps it was a mistake, being so wrapped up in each other’s presence, so blatantly in a public place. They’d not noticed the looks they were garnering from the other Berkians, grumbling under their breath. The only thing Jack was aware of was that, despite the anger and bitterness of the last six years, there was a tiny chamber of his heart that felt warm and happy when Hiccup looked at him like this. His smile, and the way it made his eyes light up.

It was only when Astrid started waving her hand between their faces that Jack really noticed anything besides Hiccup. The two of them took a step away from each other instinctively, avoiding the flailing hand. Astrid gave them both a knowing look before glaring at Jack.

_“Heather said to make yourself useful. Not waste time making eyes at Hiccup.”_

Jack scowled at her. _“I deserve a little free time. We’ve been going over the ceremony stuff for the last five days.”_

Hiccup frowned. _“Ceremony?”_

Astrid nodded, putting a placating hand on his shoulder. _“Jack’s helping Heather with the Full Moon Ritual. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him out of direct moonlight.”_

Hiccup’s jaw twitched and tightened, brows furrowed. Clearly, he didn’t like it. But on the basis that both he and Astrid knew there was nothing he could do about it, he shrugged stiffly. “ _I put my faith in you, Astrid.”_

Astrid answered with her own tight nod, grabbing Jack by his sleeve and saying, _“Come on, Frosty. We’ve got someone you need to meet before the waxing gibbous hits its peak.”_

Hiccup watched sadly as Astrid pulled Jack away, back towards the confines of the tribe’s moon temple. Sighing, he picked up the abandoned bow, walked over to one of the makeshift targets and yanked free an arrow. With swift ease, he knocked the arrow and let it fly, hurtling towards the target with not one, but two bulls-eyes. The second arrow split, much like the first had, Hiccup’s arrow hitting dead centre.

Astrid winced as she walked away, Jack in tow, listening to the tell-tale thud of her best friend internalising his problems again. She sighed. _“I hate lying to him,”_ she grumbled.

Jack glanced at her from the side. Somehow, he felt that same guilt gnawing inside him, and he could taste the bitterness on his tongue. He patted her shoulder empathetically. _“Soon you won’t have to.”_

 _  
_-:-

  
When Jack and Astrid arrived at the temple, Heather was already in a deep conversation with someone. They were sitting on mats in a chamber off to the side of the main ceremony room; a room draped in white furs and glass beads. To the side of the two women, a dying fire of glowing embers crackled and popped. Candles lit the room, their flicking light bouncing off the glass beads and creating dancing prisms of colour on the cave wall.

Astrid beckoned Jack onward towards the two talking women, but Jack had found himself rooted to the spot. The woman Heather was talking to… Jack had seen her before. He’d seen her in this very room. Albeit, many years ago...

 _“Jack, you’re here,”_ Heather beamed, getting up to meet him. _“There is someone I would like you to meet. This is Lady Valka, Queen of our Tribe and previous Moon Maiden.”_

The woman hummed, smiling as she turned to Jack. Her eyes were a bright, familiar green, framed by sweeping, wild, auburn hair that was streaked with grey. There were crow’s feet crinkled at the corners of her eyes, along with a collection of laugh lines around her lips, and worry lines across her brow.Despite the clear signs of age – made deeper by the harsh, cold weather – she was still utterly devastating in her beauty. Jack held out a hand, swallowing nervously. _“It is an honour to meet you, Lady Valka. I’ve heard much about you.”_

Valka laughed musically, before saying, “All good, yes? But honour is mine. You are strong to have come so far on such bad situation.”

Jack blinked. “You speak common?”

She gave him an impish smile. “My dragonese better. But my son teach me common. I understand more than I speak.”

Jack nodded slowly, settling himself down opposite Valka on the mats. Heather poured a steaming cup of something that smelt of mint and verbena from a pot that had been buried in the smouldering hearth beside them. Jack inhaled the scent gratefully, settling his now frazzled nerves. The last time he’d seen this woman, she had been fighting vehemently against her husband to protect Hiccup. Now she was older, and weary looking, the leather riding gear she wore beaten and wind-whipped to cracking. As if Hiccup’s imprisonment had drained her more so than him. Maybe it had – Jack did not know what it was to be a parent.

She sipped at her own herbal tea, before placing it down in front of her, and looking at Jack speculatively. “Heather tells me of plan for Full Moon Ritual.”

Jack nodded again, saying, “ _I can speak Mûnthan, if it is easier for you.”_

Valka shook her head dismissively. “You guest. I speak your language. That, and I have message for you alone.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at that, his interest piqued. “A message?”

“Yes. But first – what you want to achieve by doing ritual? Is dangerous without kindred. You could die. And my son always locked in chambers during full moon. Chief’s orders.”

Jack frowned. “Why?”

Valka sighed, shaking her head. “My husband is proud man. Mûnthan men are strong. Not show weakness. Not show need. Especially for Southerner.” She looked at Jack meaningfully. “My son will be Chief. He cannot be weak. Weakness make doubt in followers. Weakness make enemies plan. Storekin knows this. He only wants to protect our son from that.” She bowed her head. “He means well. But he does too much. He caused pain to…prevent?” Jack nodded encouragingly. Valka continued “prevent pain. Do not hate my husband, Jack. He just protects his own.”

Jack stared at her in silence for a couple of moments, taking in the earnestness in her face. “I saw you,” he said softly. “I saw you fighting to stop the enchantment. I saw it when I touched the altar. And yet you still defend him?”

Valka shrugged. “I am angered by his actions. He know this. But I am his, and he mine. He is still Sel’a. My heart choose between pure hate and pure love. Anger? Yes. Hate? No. So in the end, I still love him. You understand?”

Funnily enough, yes. Jack understood completely. That sense of being let down and frustrated to no end by your other half, and yet giving yourself over to the fact you couldn’t part with them even if you tried. Jack gave Valka a weak smile and nodded minutely. She leaned back and sat straight, smiling broadly, as if Jack had just confirmed something for her.

Jack waited a couple moments more, before clearing his throat. “Well, um, alright. I’m glad we cleared that up, but…um… you had a message? For me?” he fumbled with his fingers as he spoke.

Valka watched him fiddling, his milky pale fingers a stark contrast to his dark clothes, dyed in such rare shades of blue. Blue dye itself was a commodity in the mountains, its colour – along with white – sacred to the Moon Dragon. Jack couldn’t have made himself stand out more in the Mûnthan society if he tried. was a sleek, lithe creature surrounded by hulking men and strong women. He was beautiful and majestic in his differences, but none-the-less otherworldly. The only Mûnthan boy with a build anything like Jack’s was her own Hiccup, and Hiccup was still at least five inches taller than Jack.  

Strange, the choices the Moon Dragon makes.

“I will help with Ceremony how I can.” Valka spoke slowly. Jack frowned, confused.

“But…as a past Maiden, you can’t partake. Your powers would have dissipated on your wedding night.”

“Dissipate is vanish, yes? Gone. True I have no powers, but you do. You have great power, Jack. To attempt the ritual without my son at your side is dangerous, not just for you but whole village. Whole mountain.” She looked at Jack very seriously. He gulped.

“Practice is not enough with this. Not worth risk. I shall free my son and bring him here. Is what was planned, yes?”

Jack considered for a moment. “Yes…” he agreed slowly, “but…only after the moon has had some effect.”

Valka’s face hardened, the worry lines on her forehead deepening. “I know why you plan this. I understand. But you must understand you take big risk.”

“I do,” Jack said firmly. “But in the end, wouldn’t the outcome be worth it?”

Valka gave him a hard stare, those green eyes - eyes that really should not affect him the way they did - piercing through him like arrows. Or lightning. It was obvious where Hiccup had inherited them from. Finally she sighed, relenting. “Very well. I will assist. But be careful, Jack. Should anything happen to you, my son could not take it. And if anything happen to him-” she paused, closing her eyes and gathering herself. “I would not take it either. I would make it rain fire.”

She opened her eyes and met Jack’s again, and Jack trembled. Her eyes positively blazed with the fervour of her words. Not a promise, nor a threat. It was an oath.  


No, Jack decided, he did not know what it was to be a parent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I know it's been a couple weeks, but I'm not dead :D Happy New Year all.  
> I said I'd update this in 24 hours, but that may not be the case any more. I may have naffed Swifty off by jumping the gun, and I really ought to wait for her before I go updating again. Respect your betas. *whacks self with stick* Bad Dobby.  
> Thank you for your patience. Trust me, it was worth it.


	11. The Moon Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you Swift for beta-reading :)  
> I hope you are all prepared for this. Seriously.

_Chapter XI_

**_ The Moon Maiden _ **

  
When the day of the full moon came, Jack woke to the sensation of his stomach tying itself into a thousand knots. One month had passed since his birthday. One month since the siege on Caruselle. Guilt gnawed on his innards like a dog worrying a bone. The only thing Jack could assuage his guilt with was the hawk that had arrived the day before. It had only been a brief message, but it had calmed Jack regardless. Valka had come down purposefully to tell him the news, and he had thanked her endlessly for it. Johann’s script was poor, and his writing tools had been blunt, but a decipherable message could be read none-the-less:

_All is quiet now. The shadows moved North._   
_Queen Thiana is mourning her son. She remains in Caruselle._   
_The King has taken surviving warriors to meet with the Rebellion in Corona._   
_They intend to strike the shadows from the source: Forte Blacke._

_Prepare yourselves. The Plague is coming._

It meant that today, no-one would be concerned with the goings-on in the Moon Temple; everyone was far too busy preparing for the shadows that seemed to follow Jack wherever he went. Hiccup was indispensable, sequestered away to the forge to make numerous new weapons with a very grumpy Gobber, who was still complaining about his knee. Which meant no matter how suspicious the Munthan prince became - watching Astrid bustle back and forth with blankets and herbs ‘for the ritual’ – he couldn’t prise himself away from work long enough to question her.

Meanwhile, Jack was stuck reading and memorising ancient Mûnthan – Mûnathernic – for the ritual. It made his head hurt; the language was far more complex than normal Mûnthan, with long vowel sounds and harsh, guttural noises from the back of the throat. The pronunciation had to be perfect, or the magic would fail. He pressed his fingers into his temple, massaging away the tension in his brow. Outside he could hear the bustling madness of the renewed war effort. Jack knew it was only a matter of time before he left Berk Mountain to continue his  quest. Only tonight would be crucial – a turning point – as to whether he would continue alone to the rest of his allied kingdoms, or with the partner in crime he was always meant to have.

With his own efforts renewed at that thought, Jack went back to his last minute studying, entirely focused on getting the wording right.

By the time the sun was setting, Jack was a nervous wreck. Heather kept plying him with calming herbal tea, to the point where it felt like his insides were swimming with it. She shook her head as Jack picked at the roasted pheasant he’d been given to eat, peeling at the greasy skin with no intention of actually eating it.

Eventually, she gently pulled the greasy mess of the bird’s leg from Jack’s hands. “ _Go take a bath in the springs. It will make you feel better. Plus, it is part of the ritual… cleansing at twilight…”_

Jack nodded mutely, getting up and making his way down through the rocky corridors to the natural hot springs. He tugged off his clothes and sunk into the water, letting the heat soak through his skin and into the tense muscles on his back. He closed his eyes and lay back for a while, letting his mind wander absently. He couldn’t think of negative things – not his fears for Caruselle, or the ritual. Not the empty loss of Aster, Van or Ralf. Not the consequences of what would happen if their plan failed.

Instead, he daydreamed. He dreamed of what could have been, had Hiccup stayed in Caruselle. Hiccup would have been inducted into the Knight’s Circle; first as a squire, then as a knight in training, then finally as a knight of the Royal Household. Because, naturally, Jack would have claimed Hiccup as _his knight._ They would have been at each other’s sides from then on, and Aster would have teased and ridiculed them whenever he could, and the full moon every month would have been spent cuddling on Jack’s bed; whispered conversations and gentle hands. Hiccup would have been Jack’s most stalwart defender.

Hiccup would have died in Aster’s place.

Jack’s eyes snapped open at that thought, the water around him feeling a lot cooler than it should. He pulled himself upright from where he had been lying in the water, and winced. Pooled around him was watery slush, the water freezing when it touched his skin, only to start melting again in the hot springs. He took a deep breath. _Happy thoughts. Happy, calm thoughts…_

“Are you well, Jack?”

Jack glanced up, blushing when he realised who it was crouched over him. He rushed to hide his body under the clouded, half-frozen water. The cold wasn’t bad, it didn’t seem to bother him.

“Valka! Yes. I’m fine. I’m brilliant! Swell.”

She raised an eyebrow, then snorted in an attempt to hide her laughter. “I dressed Hiccup for years, Jack. You think I not see this before?” She gestured at his prone body with a wink. Jack flushed even more. Her shoulders were still shaking with laughter as she handed him a pair of rough-hewn breeches. Probably a good idea – he didn’t want to get blood on his own pair. “Heather send me to find you. Get dress - the ritual will start soon.”

Indeed, time had passed quicker than Jack had anticipated. How long had he spent in the baths? The moon was rapidly reaching high peak, where its light would filter through the hole in the roof, down to the altar below. On the altar was the silver – a pot of it that Astrid and Heather had spent the day melting down – along with the herbs he had spent the week preparing, along with a pot of blessed ashes and brushes made of bound sweet-grass. Lying innocently on the altar was a familiar knife. Jack stared at it, before his attention was pulled away by Heather.

She rushed forward, decked in her ceremonial robes of blue silk and white fur, blue paint intricately swirling over her cheeks, down her neck and shoulders to curl artistically around her arms. She pulled Jack to one side and produced a pot of blue paint, probably made with chalks and rare blue dye. It was probably very sacred, so he stayed perfectly still as she painted   entwining, elaborate runes onto his shoulders, arms and back, trying not to smudge it.

 _“Are you nervous?”_ she whispered. Jack didn’t dare nod, so he whispered back. _“Very.”_

She gave him a fond look, before leaning forward and kissing his cheek, much like Thiana used to. _“Believe in yourself, Jack. I have every faith in you.”_ She glanced up at the sky-light hewn in the rock, murmuring _“Two hours until high peak. Go familiarise yourself with the altar setup.”_

Jack nodded numbly, letting her finish the final touches on his cheeks and forehead, before stepping over to the altar. Part of it was bathed in moonlight, and Jack shied away from that part like the plague. No need to harm himself just yet. He ran his fingers over the tools and implements still hidden in the cave’s shadows, but his eyes kept flitting back to stare at the tiny, intricate knife that sat on the altar’s surface. Without really thinking, he reached forward and picked up the athame.

Roaring filled his ears as his vision whited out completely. His fingers tightened on the athame’s hilt as he heard his own heart beating faster and faster. A dull pain exploded at the back of his head, and it felt like the world was spinning around him. He heard the women shout out in shock, but the sound was faint compared to what else he could hear now. Screaming. Heart wrenching, soul destroying screaming. The sound seemed to tear through Jack, and he squeezed his eyes closed.

When he opened them again, he nearly screamed himself.

His hands seemed to be moving on their own. But for some reason Jack knew they weren’t his hands; true, they were pale, but they were much too small and delicate. Those hands trembled as they wiped at puckered, bleeding flesh, revealing cuts in shapes of sacred, Munthic runes. He sobbed as those same hand then picked up a satchel of black oak ash – imbued with the powers of strength, protection, _sealing –_ and poured the contents into a mortar. Taking up the pestle, hands began to grind, and the pestle came away black and sticky, like tar. A metallic scent wafted from the mortar, and Jack’s stomach heaved. _Blood. Definitely blood._ Then, to Jack’s horror, those same hands began to rub the mixture thoroughly into the wounds.

A young voice screamed out, and Jack’s tearful eyes shot to the face of the one chained to this altar.

He was nearly sick.

Tears poured down the young boy’s face. That same young boy Jack had given his compass to, with his heart-shaped face still young and rounded, his freckles a prominent feature spangled across his cheeks, his skin still a little pale and sunken from lack of nourishment. His arms – already bandaged, but the blood was still seeping through – were cast in iron manacles, although from the looks of them, Jack thought the bony wrists would snap if he kept struggling so hard.

His eyes were squeezed closed in agony, his throat constricting and Adam’s apple bobbing with each ragged breath. His eyes opened, like little slits, his face scrunched with pain and pleading, as green eyes look Jack straight in the eye. _“Heather.... please….”_ A gasped, scratchy breath. “ _Please don’t do this…”_

 _“I have no choice.”_ Jack heard himself say in a voice that was not his own. He picked up a piece of bark, placing it gently between Hiccup’s teeth. _“Bite down again,”_ he advised, picking up the athame, this time to slice into the other side of his collar bone. Hiccup closed his eyes, defeated, letting more tears stream from the corners of his eyes.

Jack’s own conscious was screaming out, horrified as he watched the knife dig into the pale, freckled skin beneath it. His stomach roiled as the scarlet started to pour again, and bile filled his mouth. _Stop! No more! I can’t watch anymore! PLEASE! STOP!!_

Jack yelled as his eyes flew open, gasping in a deep, ripping breath.

Around him, three pairs of concerned, fearful eyes looked down at him. Jack fought for air as the scene he’d been subjected to dissolved around him, giving way to the cool, crisp night air after the cloying smell of candle smoke and blood. The athame was still clutched in his hand, to which Jack flung it away as if it had burned him. Pain lanced through his hand and he winced – it seems he had not been holding it by the handle after all.

In a blink, Astrid was at his side, bathing his now sliced hand with a damp cloth, her eyes still watching him carefully. _“What did you see?”_

Jack shook his head minutely. It was only then he realised he was trembling, so he shook his head a little harder to make it noticeable. _“Don’t. Don’t ask me what I saw. I can’t relive it.”_

 _“It was the binding ceremony,”_ Heather spoke softly. In her hand she held the discarded athame, her face full of shame. _“That was the last time this athame was used.”_

 _“Why was it there?!”_ Valka snapped, glaring at the girl. Heather composed herself, looking Valka dead in the eye.

_“The goal for tonight is for all of us to undo our wrongs. We’ve wronged Jack and Hiccup so completely… the athame was for the reversing ceremony.”_

_“No!”_ Jack yelled, getting up and surprising all three women. _“No more blood! I didn’t know the reversing spell would mean Hiccup getting even more sliced up. Just no! I can’t bear it!”_

Heather watched as Jack worked himself up, suddenly understanding. She took his hand from where he’d started to run it through his hair frantically, pressing soothing circles into the skin. _“I swear Jack. One cut is all it takes. Exactly like this.”_ She flipped Jack’s hand over, showing the wound on Jack’s palm that was already starting to pucker and scab over. Jack blinked at it bewilderedly. For some reason, Heather didn’t look surprised. _“After that – no more pain. Ever. Hiccup will be free, and neither of you will spend a full moon alone again. Imagine, Jack.”_

Jack’s lip trembled, and he bit down to try and steady it. He clenched his hands, then released them slowly. They had prepared for this. It was too late to walk away now. He looked over at the skylight above, and saw the face of the full moon looming down. It was the first time he’d seen the full moon in six years. It was enchanting.

He shook himself out of it, then stepped forward, pulling a leather tome that lay on the altar before him, and opening it to the correct page. As he worked, the light of the moon swept over him, its weight making his limbs feel like lead. His skin on the back of his hands was reddening, beginning to blister. He ignored it. “I’m ready,” he said, turning to Valka. With a short nod, the tall women strode out of the cave, pulling up her own hood as she went.

Heather came to stand at his left side, Astrid at his right. Astrid kept a hand on Heather’s shoulder, steadying the trembling girl. The moonlight played upon their faces, Jack noted jealously, and yet not a single sign of discomfort crossed their features.

 _“Are you sure, Jack?”_ Heather whispered.

Jack couldn’t let himself doubt now. With the image of Hiccup – a free and happy, glorious Hiccup - set firmly at the front of his mind, Jack gave her a firm nod, and began chanting.

“ _Miet croowar Sael, de wataaro a de munathara leren, de sherlien de munathara coeyuri, croowar ah mieta vehsa ceskha miet de lurana de Sael…”_  


-:-

 

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

It was an old, familiar game to first stave off boredom, and then to keep his mind off the pain. Ever since he’d ran off at the age of eighteen and nearly died, his father had made it mandatory that he should be chained in his chambers for the duration of the full moon.

  
That had been the last straw for his mother. Now Valka spent her full moon nights purposefully alone, forcing herself and her husband to endure the pain that Hiccup went through on a monthly basis. In the fleeting moments Hiccup had seen his mother recently, she’d seemed older and frailer than before. None-the-less, she’d ran to him when she saw him, crushing him in a hug with strength only Mûnthans seemed to have. She’d then regaled him with stories of her travels, and laughing at the antics of Toothless and Cloudjumper.

His father wasn’t mentioned. And despite knowing his mother’s intentions, the rift between his parents saddened Hiccup greatly. It was another sad thing to be fixed. ‘Add it to the list,’ Hiccup thought drily, untangling his chains for the seventeenth time that night, only to start twisting them back up again.

The only light in the room was candlelight, the windows shuttered by wooden planks and layers of furs. Candles, papers, and broken pieces of charcoal littered a messy desk, pictures on thick parchment depicting numerous species of dragons, various new invention ideas, landscapes that could only be seen on dragon-back, and – most prominent of all – picture upon picture of a twelve year old boy with no shoes. Recently, those pictures had been joined by a new form; an older rendition of that same boy, now sharper and more defined in face and limb, his strange beauty all the more evident in Hiccup’s eyes.

The candlelight played across Hiccup’s face, making the tear tracks on his face glisten. The Moon Mourning had started a couple hours ago, along with the constant ache in his chest. The worst part was knowing that Jack was no longer miles and miles away, but a short walk across the village. And yet he was still beyond Hiccup’s reach.

Growling through clenched teeth, Hiccup flung himself back onto his bed, the chains rattling against his wrists as they followed. He closed his eyes against the pain, breathing in through his nose.

Yelling. He could hear yelling in the main room below him. He frowned, sitting up on his bed slowly, and listened.

_“This is a complete betrayal!”_

_“This is common sense!”_

_“How dare you fight against me!”_

_“I fight against your stubborn, thick-headed lack of reason! Now either give me the key, or let that poor boy’s death be on your hands!”_

Hiccup froze.

_“So help me, Valka – why would the blasted Southern boy do this? Your hand is in this!”_

_“I had no part in this plan! It was his alone, and he does it because he is nowhere near as black as you have painted him in your mind! For just once, Storekin, put your prejudice aside. See him yourself for what he truly is, and then – only then! – pass judgement.”_

Silence. The sound of something rattling. His mother murmuring something softly, and quick footfalls on the stairs. Hiccup blinked as his door was yanked open, his mother a flurry of action as she knelt at his bedside, keys in hand.

“What is happening?” Hiccup asked quietly. His eyes flicked up to where his father loomed in the doorway, watching his wife free Hiccup with an unreadable face.

Valka looked up at Hiccup as the first manacle was released, then set about on the second. “We lied. Jack is performing ritual as we speak.”

Hiccup’s eyes widened, and he swore, flinging off the final manacle as his mother released him. He jumped from his bed and ran to the door, squeezing past his father without even a glance in the man’s direction. Damn his boots, damn the cloak, Hiccup burst out of the house bare foot, his skin a hapless target for the moon’s unforgiving light. He sucked in a breath as his skin seemed to catch fire, but he didn’t let it deter him. With as fleet a foot as possible, he ran towards the Moon Temple, praying he wasn’t too late, his mother and father following behind.

-:-

  
Jack leaned against the altar, each breath he took causing his whole body to shudder in agony. His shoulder blades, bared to the light above him, were blistered and cracked, weeping a clear, sticky substance down his equally irritated skin. His hands and knuckles were raw, and he hissed as he delved his hand into the pot of sacred ashes, gently sprinkling them into the pot of molten metal.

The contents of the pot glowed a silvery white as it soaked up the moon’s blessing. Jack was not so lucky. His hand shook as he picked up a bundle of herbs – Heather had called it a smudge stick – and put the dried leaves into the flame of a nearby candle. As they began to smoulder, he murmured “ _Marla miet munathara ragor… Marla miet munathara ragor…”_

Suddenly, his knees gave out on him right in the middle of the purification spell. A stabbing sensation filled his stomach, and he retched. The smudge stick fell from his hand and rolled across the floor, the sage leaves still smoking.

Astrid moved to help him, but Heather stopped her, shaking her head furiously. _“Remember the plan. There must be no room for argument.”_

Astrid growled, pulling her arm away. _“He is dying!”_

Heather nodded, her trembling lip giving away her own fears. _“We must hope Valka can act fast, then.”_

As if summoned by Heather’s words, a shout rang out from the Temple entrance. Jack’s head snapped around at the sound, clutching at his stomach, tears bleeding out from the corners of his eyes. He choked out a hysterical laugh of relief. “You’re here…”

Hiccup skidded across the floor, falling to his knees at Jack’s side. His hands flew over Jack’s face and body, his eyes noting every sign of pain; the welts on his back, the burns on his skin, the bloodied mess of his bitten lips, the redness in his eyes. “You are an idiot,” Hiccup whispered, clutching Jack to his chest.

Jack shivered, but not for any pain this time. Every time Hiccup touched his skin, it was like a cool balm to his wounds. The pain in his stomach and chest receded, until Jack could no longer taste the metallic tang of the blood on his lips, but instead the cool, clean air, like mineral water, which filled his lungs so easily - and also filled him with a sense of calm.

He burrowed deeper into the warm embrace, tucking his head into the crook of Hiccup’s neck. It smelt warm and earthy, with a hint of sweet spiciness, like nutmeg. He could feel Hiccup folding around him, holding him tighter, fingers tracing soothing patterns into his back and arms. It felt like bliss.

It was too good to last.

 _“What in the name of Fares above is going on here?!”_ roared a voice. It was gruff, it demanded respect, and it demanded control. Jack had heard this voice before. But that had been a memory. This was real.

Jack pulled away from Hiccup to finally meet his eyes with the Chief of the Berkians. Just like in his vision, Storekin “Stoick” the Vast was indeed _vast._ His body filled so much space – he was about as broad as two men together, and at least seven feet in stature. But it wasn’t so much his size – his very _presence_ felt huge. The whole room of people seemed to step back, as if making room for him. Jack shrank down against Hiccup’s chest, more than a little intimidated.

Hiccup glared up at his father, eyes narrowed and lip curled. _“You did this!”_ he yelled, pulling Jack closer still. _“If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t go to such lengths!”_

Stoick’s glared at his son, red in the face. _“Step away from that boy, Hekairen.”_

Warmth swept through Jack, despite how chillingly that name had been said. That was it. That fit the empty space. Jack could almost feel that name clicking into place right next to his heart. Hekairen. Jack smiled, despite himself. It was a mouthful – he preferred Hiccup.

 _“I won’t,”_ Hiccup replied just as fiercely.

_“Now, son, before I make you.”_

_“Stop,”_ Jack breathed. _“Please. Stop.”_

Both men looked down at Jack, surprised. Jack shakily got to his feet, pulling away from Hiccup’s hold. It was just like the village all over again – if he clung to Hiccup, he knew he would never get the Chief’s respect. So he buried the part of him that wanted to curl up and cower under the man’s gaze, and instead met the man’s fierceness with a brand of his own.

 _“I am not afraid of you, Storekin of Berk. I respect you, and – as a fellow ruler – I admire the love and care you obviously have for your people.”_ It was true; everything about Berk Mountain said its people wanted for nothing. It was a wonderfully peaceful place, and Jack knew it was all because of the underlying promise of protection the people received from their chief. Jack straightened his shoulders, stepping in front of Hiccup in an almost protective gesture, meeting the chief head on. Behind the chief, the Valka, Heather and Astrid looked on in awe – Jack was a runt of a boy compared to Stoick. And yet, the boy’s own presence seemed to expand as he spoke, nearly rivalling the chief’s own.

_“I am Prince Jackson of Caruselle, son of Queen Thiana II and King Consort Nicolas of Arendelle. I am of both the North and the South, which is why the Moon Dragon chose me for your son.”_

The chief blinked at the boy, disbelieving. At his silence, Jack continued, emboldened. _“If you don’t believe me – look. Look at me. Look at the burns on my skin. A few weeks ago, before I fell into Mirror Lake, you would have been able to see my scars from six years of full moons spent alone.”_

The Chief’s eyes widened – along with the three Berkian’s behind him - at Jack’s words, particularly his mentioning of Mirror Lake. Stoick knew all about Mirror Lake; the Mûnthans knew it to be a site of great sorrow. The last stand of a great being – betrayed by its own followers – now trapped beneath a layer of ice, its cycle of life interrupted forever. _“What happened at the Lake?”_ Stoick asked brusquely, his eyes narrowed.

Jack stared at the man, as if not sure he’d heard correctly. _“Besides my hair and eyes changing colour, and my new-found powers over ice? Not much.”_

Perhaps sassing the Chief of Berk was not the wisest thing to do. The faces of the women behind the chief confirmed that. But Jack never claimed to be wise. He was an eighteen year old that had been put through a lot in the last month, never mind the six years of hurt beforehand. Wisdom was not his strong point. Anger, however, was another matter.

The Chief frowned at Jack, before glancing over at Hiccup. “ _You should teach your kindred better respect.”_

 _“Oh, so **now** you accept him as my kindred?” _Hiccup snapped, getting up and standing at Jack’s side. Jack silently slipped his hand into Hiccup’s, his heart fluttering slightly went he felt that warm hand squeeze his in reassurance. Hiccup kept his eyes fixed on his father, saying, _“Do you admit that you were wrong, then? Wrong to bar him from me? Wrong to bind me to the Sea of Clouds?”_

 _“I did that to protect you,”_ Stoick barked back. “ _You did not see yourself when you returned here, Hekairen. You were a shade of yourself. Alverrus had torn you apart.”_ Hiccup winced at the familiarity in that name, a reminder of how easy it was to be betrayed by those closest to you.

 _“There was no sign from this boy that he suffered under the moon as you did,”_ Stoick continued, glaring at Jack. _“I’ve seen men waste away after Southern Sel’as who would never feel the same way. The guilt of forcing your Sel’a into marriage, when they felt nothing for you but pity… it can drive a man insane. The same as rejection, and watching your Sel’a happy in another’s arms.”_ His eyes flew to Hiccup’s face, accusing. _“You have seen the pain such love causes! You see it every day!”_

 _“I am not Gobber, Father!”_ Hiccup argued. _“And Jack is no ordinary Southerner.”_ A thumb brushed over Jack’s hand. He gave Hiccup a small smile.

Stoick looked between the two boys, frowning. _“I can see that.”_ He moved slowly towards them, and Jack felt Hiccup stiffen next to him, his grip on Jack’s hand tightening, afraid the chief would suddenly yank him away. Stoick did nothing like that though, instead he circled around the pair, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. _“So this is what that vision meant…”_  he murmured.

Hiccup raised an eyebrow. _“Vision?”_

 _“What vision?”_ Valka demanded, stepping forward.

Stoick waved the question away, ignoring his wife and focusing entirely on Jack. Jack wavered under the stare, but met it without backing down. “ _You are not what I would have wanted for my son.”_

 _“Dad,”_ Hiccup growled.

Stoick looked at his son, his face grim. _“I tried going against the Moon Dragon once, and Fares knows I won’t do it again. My wife,”_ he glanced sideways at Valka, _“my son, even my best friend – they punish me for doing what I thought was best to protect my family.”_ He sighed, giving Hiccup a long, sad look. _“I was wrong.”_

Hiccup’s eyes widened at that, his finger’s loosening from their death grip. Jack instead interlocked their fingers, although Hiccup didn’t seem to notice. He was fixed on his father now, dumbstruck. That, Hiccup knew, was as close to an apology as he was ever going to get.

Stoick grunted, turning to Heather. “ _You have the knife, I suppose?”_

Heather nodded timidly, stepping forward and handing Stoick the athame. Jack could feel Hiccup tense next to him at the sight of that thing, and having witnessed with his own eyes what Hiccup had gone through, Jack was not surprised. The sight of the athame sickened him too.

Without even flinching, Stoick ran the athame across the palm of his hand, then pinched at the wound until it started to weep blood. Valka watched on with a stony face, only flinching as the knife sliced through Stoick’s skin. When the wound was fairly flowing, Stoick turned to Hiccup, and gestured for him. _“Come here, Hekairen.”_

It was Jack’s turn to tighten his hand’s grip. Hiccup looked down at him and smiled gently. “I’ll be fine. Better than fine, if I’m right…”

Jack swallowed, slowly releasing Hiccup’s hand regretfully. The warmth was quickly vanishing once his hand had gone. Hiccup approached Stoick with a determined gait, his face set. Without prompt, he offered his forearm, where runes circled his wrist in a band. Stoick stared down at the rune patterns, and a look of pure guilt flickered upon his face, before it was hidden away by the normal, stern set of his jaw. In one swift motion, he slashed through one of the rune scars in Hiccup’s skin.

Hiccup winced in pain, hissing as his father’s own cut hand came to rest on the fresh wound. Jack started forward, only to be held back by Valka’s firm hand. She shook her head at him, a watery smile on her lips. “Watch.”

So he did. And as he watched, red light began to glow from the runes, each symbol lighting up under Hiccup’s skin. Hiccup gasped for air, and suddenly the light began to fade away, turning from a bloody red to a radiant blue. Heather stepped forward, placing both her hands on top of the Chief’s wounded one. Jack’s Munthic was basic – he’d learned what he’d needed to for the ceremony – but from what he knew, he could piece together what Heather said:

_“With the breaking of one link, so the guardian breaks these bonds. Moon Dragon, let your child now fly - beyond the clouds to Southern skies.”_

The glow faded. Both men, father and son, looked utterly drained. Stoick released Hiccup’s arm, to be supported by his wife as his body shook slightly. Hiccup, meanwhile, had lost all the strength in his legs, and slumped to the floor. With Valka no longer there to restrain him, Jack hurried forward, pulling Hiccup’s weakened body into his lap.

Green eyes fluttered open, gazing up at Jack, and he offered Jack a weak smile. Jack returned it, taking Hiccup’s hand again and letting a half-laugh half-sob escape him as those warm fingers entwined with his own again – sun-kissed skin against skin pale as the moon.

Hiccup looked up past Jack, seeking out Stoick for reassurance. When he found his father’s gaze, he spoke croakily, “ _It’s done, right? I’m free?”_

Stoick sighed a tired sigh before nodding. _“You are free to make your own choices now, Hiccup. As you always should have been.”_ He looked at Valka, whose smile encouraged him to say finally, _“I am sorry.”_

Hiccup’s heart tightened at those words. He gave his father the warmest smile he had in six years. “ _Me too, Dad. Thank you.”_

Jack wrapped his arms around Hiccup’s shoulders, taking a shuddering breath of relief. Astrid and Heather hovered back, watching as Valka helped her husband through the caves, back to their home. Hiccup smiled up at Jack sleepily, nestling into Jack’s arms much like Jack had curled up in his. “I’m free, Jack,” he mumbled into Jack’s forearm.

Jack barked out a small laugh. “Yes. Again.”

“Thanks to you, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Jack mused, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Again.”

Hiccup hummed, brushing his cheek against Jack’s arm as he looked up at the sky light above them. “I haven’t seen the full moon for many years. The last time I saw it, it was the day after your twelfth birthday. I remember laughing at it.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Laughing?”

“Mmhmm.” Hiccup closed his eyes, relaxing into Jack’s hold. “Johann thought I’d gone mad. But there’s this old poem you see, and that moon reminded me of it.”

“Old poem?”

Hiccup peeked up at him, through his eyelashes, before clearing his throat and reciting:

“ _Mata sel a’ra sora d’firé, Vesno Mata vuw’ar met. Vesa met, lura, selana met - Metta mat firé, sel’a vesa couyr.”_

Jack blinked at him. Once. Twice.

“That’s engraved on my spyglass.”

Hiccup frowned up at him, puzzled. “Really? I don’t remember putting it on there…”

“No, no. My Dad engraved it. I asked him to translate it, but…er… he told me to ask you.”

At that, Hiccup smirked up at Jack, raising an eyebrow. “He did, did he?”

“Would you please just translate?”

“You could probably translate it yourself, you know.”

Jack blushed. “I…I didn’t want to.”

Hiccup chuckled, his eyes on their entwined hands as he played with Jack’s fingers. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic. I’m really going to enjoy learning everything about you.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Translation, _Hekairen.”_

Hiccup laughed, looking up at Jack with those bright warm eyes that all of a sudden seemed so hopeful. “My Moon once flew in the sky, but then my eyes saw you. And you – kind, beautiful you – you are now my sky, and my heart and soul.”

Jack felt everything in him soften as Hiccup spoke; his face, his hands, and most certainly his heart. When Hiccup had finished, Jack leant forward without a word and pressed a kiss to his forehead. At the side of the temple, Astrid and Heather slipped away, unnoticed by the two finally reunited lovers. The moon shone down from above, its light no longer a curse, but now felt like silvery silk on their skin. In that moment, all Jack could feel was calm, happy, wonderful contentment.

In that moment, everything was perfect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hands out tissues*


	12. The Rites of d'Relva Cren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if my beta is still alive. o_o I sent this to her a while back, but she's not told me if she's got it, so I'm a tad worried :/  
> And I'm also worrying over the fact that I sent the first 3 chapters of MOTN to some agencies... to try and get published... and the idea of having a professional go over my work is somewhat terrifying. 
> 
> Anyway - this worrywart has been a busy bee for you guys. :) Enjoy the fluff.

_Chapter XII_

**_ The Rites of d’Relva Cren _ **

**_  
_**Waking up on the day following the Full Moon was usually a painful, embarrassing and sordid affair, involving Jack waking to find himself sodden with a mixture of tears, sweat and blood. Usually, he’d stare into space blankly, contemplating the emptiness he felt in his chest, until a maid – usually Molly – came to drag him from his catatonic state, pick up the scattered pieces of Jack’s self-esteem and dignity, and try putting them back in place, before plastering a smile on his withdrawn face and sending him off to embrace the outside world.

This morning was markedly different.

Jack stirred where he lay in the temple’s infirmary, hands pawing sleepily at his eyes. He yawned, leaning forward to get out of the cot Heather had given him for his stay, only to find himself stuck in bed. Frowning, he looked down to find the source of his problem, only for that frown to slide off his face and break into a splitting grin.

Freckled arms tightened around his waist, and behind him Hiccup grumbled in his sleep, disturbed by Jack’s movement. With a resigned sigh, Jack let himself be pulled back into that warm embrace. Warm breath huffed over his shoulder, and Jack snuggled back into the warmth of their shared blanket as the events of last night reacquainted themselves with his memory.

Hiccup had been spent of all energy after being freed from the Binding Enchantment. Jack had amused himself by quietly teasing his sleepy kindred, who – despite Hiccup’s adamant rebuke – was utterly adorable. Jack had laughed at the petulant “M’not cute. Stop sayin’ that…” as he’d pulled Hiccup from his lap, and brought his arm around his shoulder. They’d sloped off to the infirmary – a long, thin room stuffed with five and a half beds (if you were counting the fur rug too) - where Jack had fully been prepared to tuck Hiccup into one of the spare cots, and then curl up in his own. Only moments after doing this, Jack felt an uncomfortable burn on the back of his neck, travelling down his spine, and a familiar stinging in the corner of his eyes. As he frowned at the sensation, a tired voice called out, “I think you’re stretching the ‘less than ten paces’ rule.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jack replied, scratching at his back.

“Then why are you over there? I can see your eyes watering from over here.”

Jack turned in bed and glared at Hiccup, who was now sat up in bed with a look on his face that clearly stated ‘unimpressed’. “There was no way you could see my eyes from there,” he whispered.

Hiccup shrugged, wiping a stray tear from his own eye. “I was right, though.” With no more words, Hiccup simply pulled the blanket away from him, shuffling back in bed until his back met the cave wall. With one arm, he beckoned Jack over wordlessly.

Jack flushed furiously, and hid his red face under the blankets. He heard a sigh. “Please don’t be stubborn – I’m the Northerner here, that’s my job.”

“N-no,” Jack stammered out. “It’s not that. I’ve just… never shared a bed with anyone before.”

That statement was met with a brief silence, Jack still hidden beneath his covers, grimacing. Then, he heard a soft chuckle. “To be honest, Jack, I’m kind of glad to hear that. Now could you please come over here? I can barely move right now, but I will drag myself over there if I have to.”

The itch on Jack’s back was starting to burn, like slow acting acid. Jack sighed. He was being ridiculous. With all the grace of a bumbling adolescent, he stumbled out of bed and padded his way over to where Hiccup was waiting. He’d barely sat on the edge of the cot before a pair of firm arms engulfed him, pulling him back into the bed.

Jack made a strangled sound as his bare back hit Hiccup’s chest, and immediately tensed up. Hiccup was patient though, his hands gently seeking out any irritated welts on Jack’s skin – burns left over from Jack’s failed attempt at a Full Moon Ritual – and stroked them soothingly. Jack breathed deeply as the pain faded at Hiccup’s touch. Slowly, he relaxed into Hiccup’s arms, a feeling of utter contentment filling his chest with warmth.

Just like that, the two had fallen into the best sleep they’d both had in years. Words were not necessary.

Now, Jack curled into the embrace of his kindred, his fingers tracing the strange rune-tattoos left on Hiccup’s arm. It was all that remained of the enchantment, but what should have been ugly scars had somehow become beautiful and exotic; the previously muddy red hue of the marks now replaced with a deep, sapphire blue.  As his fingers followed the trail of runes down to Hiccup’s wrist, he felt a small puff of air on his cheek before, “ _That tickles.”_

Jack stilled his hand, feeling his blush reach the tip of his ears. _“Sorry,”_ he mumbled. Hiccup’s chest reverberate against his back as the Mûnthan chuckled softly. Jack smiled at the sound.

Hiccup hummed as he cuddled closer, sighing softly. _“I thought I might have been dreaming again… You smell like flowers. I have only ever experienced that scent in Caruselle…”_

Jack laughed, knowing exactly which flower Hiccup was talking about. “Peonies? You think I smell like Carusellen peonies?!”

Hiccup shrugged, nuzzling in closer. “But you do,” he replied simply, brushing his cheek against Jack’s skin. Then he froze. And then groaned as flakes of blue cascaded over Jack’s shoulder. “ _But the paint I could do without…”_

Jack frowned, shuffling around in Hiccup’s arms to face him, and was then forced to smother a laugh. The side of Hiccup’s face was smeared with blue paint, the chalky substance now mostly dry and peeling off. Hiccup looked unamused. Jack tried to keep a straight face, he really did. “Blue is a good colour on you,” he quipped airily. Hiccup just rolled his eyes.

“If you say so.”

Eventually, the two boys managed to pry themselves out of bed – mostly because the peeling paint was getting all over the bed-sheets, making them itch horribly – and it was an unspoken agreement that they both needed a wash. Hiccup barely said a word as Jack plucked a couple of wash rags from the ready, woven basket that was left in the hot spring caverns at all times.

Jack took one look at the water, then a fleeting glance at Hiccup, and decided n0 – he was not ready to start stripping in front of the Mûnthan prince, Sel’a or not. Hiccup watched with a small, amused smile as Jack knelt at the side of the spring, dipped the cloth into the warm water, and began washing off the numerous brushstrokes of blue that had been blurred as he slept. He didn’t meet Hiccup’s eyes as he worked – despite knowing Hiccup was watching him – he firmly kept his attention on his arms and chest, finally hiding his flushed face as he scrubbed it clean.

Hiccup snorted, and did the same with his own cloth, washing away the smears of blue he’d accumulated overnight. He paused to inspect the runes on his arms and collarbone, an eyebrow raised at the new colour. He sighed, tapping his fingers on his forearm thoughtfully. _“That is new.”_

 “What’s new?” Jack asked, emerging from his washcloth.

When Hiccup gestured at his arms, Jack gave him a gentle smile, taking a couple meek steps forward and brushing his fingertips over the runes, just like he had earlier. “They have no hold over you anymore, Hiccup. You are free. And as I said earlier - blue is a good colour on you.”  

Hiccup cocked his head, bemused. “Why do you call me ‘Hiccup’? You know my true name. It’s your right as my Sel’a to use it.”

It was Jack’s turn to snort. “Would you like to refer to me as ‘Jackson?’”

“No, but-”

“I like the name ‘Hiccup’,” Jack continued, as if Hiccup hadn’t spoke, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s an ageless name with no pretence of prestige. Like Jack.” His smile turned much warmer, his eyes looking upward to finally meet Hiccup’s again.  Hiccup looked like he was going to argue, but instead he sighed and shook his head. There was very little to argue about, in the end. Bottom line: his gut instinct told him as long as Jack was happy, so was he. Instead, a mischievous smirk flickered at the corner of his lips.

“Turn around, Jack. You still have paint on your back.”

It had the desired effect. Jack instantly turned scarlet and started fumbling with his washcloth, trying – futilely – to wash his own back, claiming, “It’s alright! I’ll be fine by myself, really!” Which had been funny to watch for a couple of minutes, when suddenly Jack overbalanced and toppled over in an ungraceful heap, nearly falling into the water at the same time. At that point, Hiccup was having a hard time containing his laughter. Jack’s modesty and sheer naiveté was utterly adorable.

Jack sat up, spluttering, and glared at Hiccup who was hold his sides as his frame shook in silent fits. At Jack’s petulant scowl, Hiccup lost it entirely. “I’m sorry!” he gasped out “You just – I can’t-”

Jack rolled his eyes to the ceiling, getting to his feet and walking out of the springs without a word. Hiccup followed, wiping tears from his eyes as he went. “Don’t be like that, Jack. Come back, please?”

“So you can laugh at me, again?” Jack shot back, unamused.

Hiccup ran a hand through his hair, wavering at the look Jack gave him. “ _I was not laughing **at** you, Jack,” _ he replied, slipping back into Munthan out of nerves. _“It was just supposed to be a joke, I was not making fun of you, I swear, I-”_

 _“Hiccup, laughing?”_ piped a voice from along the corridor, cutting Hiccup’s babbling short. _“Well, there is one for the record scrolls.”_

Hiccup – internally sighing with relief – spun around on his heels, addressing the approaching party, _“Good morning to you too, Astrid.”_ She gave him a playful wink, and Hiccup had to bite back a groan. Oh yes, she knew he’d already been in trouble with Jack, and that she’d just saved his neck. And now he owed her, and they both knew it. Smiling sweetly, Astrid replied, _“Good morning, boys._ _Sleep well?”_

Before Hiccup could open his mouth to call her out on that obvious innuendo, Jack was already shrugging and saying, _“To be honest, it was probably the best night’s sleep I had in years, Full Moon or not.”_

Any wry comeback Hiccup had in store for Astrid died in his mouth at that, his lips instead turning up into a fond smile. Astrid waggled her eyebrows at them, all pretence of subtlety dropped. _“Are you sure it was only sleeping?”_

Jack choked on the air he was breathing. _“W-what is that supposed to mean?!”_

The two Mûnthans exchanged looks, before Astrid promptly burst into peals of laughter, Hiccup shaking his head as he fought against the urge to laugh with her.

“ _Oh, Moon Dragon!”_ Astrid gasped out, _“You really **are** a maiden!” _

Jack glared at her, affronted, whilst Hiccup tried to convey to Astrid through eye contact alone that she really needed to stop talking. She ignored them both. “ _You are absolutely adorable!”_

 _“I’m eighteen,”_ Jack growled, “ _not adorable.”_  

She patted Jack’s cheek, her grin still plastered to her face. _“Keep saying so, friend. One day you might convince someone.”_

Hiccup raised an eyebrow at Astrid, who merely beamed at him and then patted Jack on the head. Jack hissed, muttering about being condescended to. “ _You’re in a good mood,”_ Hiccup commented drily.

 _“Why would I not be?”_ Astrid remarked airily, “ _Or more to the point, why would you not be? For the first time in years, you can go where you like!”_ She bounced on the balls of her feet, looking every bit the excited five year old. _“How about it, Captain? I will race you to Mirror Lake and back! Or we could show Jack the Silent Precipice, or-”_

_“That might have to wait.”_

Heather stepped up next to Astrid, making the three jump. _“Do not do that, Heather!  You nearly scared me to death!”_ Astrid chastised, poking the girl in the ribs.

Her teasing stopped immediately when she saw the look on Heather’s face, though.

Heather should have been like them – happy, jubilant even – as their plan had worked perfectly. Despite the dangers posed to both Jack and the tribe – in that had Hiccup not arrived in time to sooth Jack’s injuries, his powers would have started fighting back and _possibly causing a miniature snow storm–_ all had turned out fine. The chief had accepted Jack. Hiccup’s curse was gone. All was well.

Except everyone could see from Heather’s face that no, it was not.

Heather took one look at Jack and Hiccup – Jack still in his ceremony garb and Hiccup in his sleepwear, both still slightly damp with blue sporadically flecked on their clothes – and sighed wearily. _“You two might want to get dressed, fast. The Chief has called a gathering at the Great Hall.”_ She gave them both a meaningful look. “ _Both your presences are required.”_  
  


Z

  
Jack was not unfamiliar with new, daunting places. He’d ran madly into the palace catacombs without any guide, and somehow wandered into the Trog-infested tunnels of the Seeker’s Guild. Not long after that, he’d literally fallen into the lap of the poor people of Mirror Valley, _alone._ And again, it had been Jack _alone_ that had been taken as Dagur’s captive, hauled off to yet another unknown fate that may or may not have been the end of him.

This time, at least, he wasn’t walking into the unknown _alone_.

Hiccup’s hand squeezed Jack’s reassuringly as the Munthan led him through the throngs of crowds, under the looming, stone carved buttresses held high by statues whose eyes seemed to follow Jack wherever he went.

The Great Hall was immense – hollowed from the mountain itself, a fire simmered in the middle of the gargantuan room, its flames licking upward toward the intricately painted ceiling depicting thousands upon thousands of dragons. Hanging from the ceiling were large, coppery bowls of lit oils, filling the room with flickering light and the smell of hemleaf and wastrora – peppery, woody smells with a touch of mountain lilies, mixing with the wild woodsmoke.

Munthan runes in red and gold gilded the walls, spinning tales that Jack could barely understand with his basic knowledge. Surrounding the fire were burly, bearded men and stern women, all strong-looking and weather-beaten. Carved, stone steps led to a high platform of carved rock, like woven knots, where sat three thrones. It reminded Jack of his own throne room in Caruselle - gold, gilded chairs with high backs, looking out upon the assembly room. Only it was not Queen Thiana sitting upon the High Royal’s chair.

Stoick watched Jack and Hiccup as they approached, leaning on one arm of the throne, which looked like it was made with the antlers and pelts of many hunts. It was grand in stature, if not a little intimidating - a perfect throne for a Barbarian Chief. At his sides were two more thrones, only they had been hewn of various woods, and furnished with woven tapestries instead. At Stoick’s right hand, Valka sat with her legs crossed, her hands perched upon the rests of her chair. They were twitching, as was her jaw. Hiccup gulped when he saw his mother’s state. It could only mean bad news.

Hiccup bowed his head at Stoick when they finally reached the Great Hall’s front, and at Stoick’s acknowledgement, Hiccup pulled Jack along with him as he climbed the stairs towards the empty chair on the chief’s left.

Jack swallowed his outcry of confusion – surely he should not be up here with Mûnthan Royalty? He was just a guest! Jack wasn’t even sure if he counted as royalty anymore, on the basis his kingdom was probably a pile of smouldering rock by now. Nevertheless, Hiccup’s hold was unrelenting as he practically dragged Jack up the steps. When they finally reached the empty throne, Jack gave his Sel’a a very pointed look. One throne. _Now what?_

Hiccup rolled his eyes, and gestured for Jack to sit down.

Now Jack was very confused, but he did as he was told, very much aware of the entire tribe’s eyes following his every move. He sat and faced the inhabitants of Berk mountain, and gulped down his nerves. _They were all watching him._ Even Stoick and Valka – Stoick with a stony expression, Valka with a small hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.

 He bit his lip subconsciously, his fingers fluttering as they gripped the arms of the throne. A thumb traced over the back of his hand soothingly, and immediately Jack released his lip. The gentle hand followed a path up his arm and rested on his shoulder. Hiccup stood right next to him. Jack understood now.

Hiccup wanted his tribe to see this. Himself and Jack, together. Presented together. An irrefutable unit. Jack relaxed under Hiccup’s touch, easing back into the chair as his body went on auto-pilot. He was a prince. He knew how to keep a straight face with a rapt audience. He had been taught to do so since he was born.

He was met with silence, every eye fixed upon the pair of princes. He swallowed a lump in his throat. Finally, the Chief cleared his throat, garnering the attention of his people.   
“ _War is upon us_ ,” he declared. As several heads nodded in affirmation, the chief continued, “ _We have known the darkness of the Plague for years, but never has it come to us in this form. From what I have heard, one of our number has witnessed the darkness first hand. Prince Jack – what can you tell us of the siege on your kingdom?”_

Jack’s gut twisted as, yet again, every eye was upon him. The hand on his shoulder tightened for a moment, before pressing reassuring circles into Jack’s skin. Jack took a deep, calming breath, and spoke, “ _If you are talking about the shadows, it is not only in Caruselle I have seen them. They followed me into the tunnels beneath BenHul Forest, and then out to the borderlines of Mirror Valley. That was where I last saw them – I escaped with a bad scratch on my back, but compared to my… my friend…”_ Jack gulped, Vanela’s face – scrunched in agony as she called for Ralf – flashed before his eyes. He closed his eyes against it, steadying himself. “ _I was lucky.”_

There was a moment's pause before Stoick spoke again, “ _What did they look like?”_ he pressed, “ _Were they large? Small? What were their weaknesses?”_

 _“They did not have **forms,** per say,” _Jack replied, not able to meet the Chief’s eyes, instead staring at his hands clasped in his lap steadily. “ _They were shadows – you would attack them with swords, slicing off limbs, only to have that very limb reform again seconds later, perfectly intact. They can be as big and sturdy as a boulder-class Trog, or they can be long and thin vines that can tear down entire buildings.”_ His hands tightened their grip in his lap, nails cutting into his own skin. His chest felt tight as he spoke. He’d been trying so hard to put the attack behind him, to stay focused on the present, but the wound Jack thought had been quietly healing revealed itself to be as fresh as the day it was wrought. It still hurt – like torture – to think of Caruselle. Even more so to speak of it.

There was movement beside him. Jack turned his head as a pair of hands took his from his lap, breaking the ironclad hold and rubbing them soothingly. He met Hiccup’s bright green eyes, and took a shuddering breath.

“Talk to me,” Hiccup said softly. “Forget them, tell me.”

Jack wanted to shake his head furiously. He could already feel the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. If he was to tell Hiccup about the attack, he would do so whilst being held in the man’s arms, where he could cry over the horrors he’d seen without fear of judgement.   
And if that wasn’t enough, at least he could hide his face in Hiccup’s tunic.

Instead, he stared into Hiccup’s eyes and buried himself in the implicit strength and love he saw there. They barely knew each other, and yet Hekairen’s eyes practically screamed his devotion to Jack. In the silence of that hall, filled with strangers, Hiccup’s gaze was deafening.

 _“They killed my friend. I watched them crush him underfoot. B-but not before he managed to paralyse them first.”_ Jack squeezed Hiccup’s hands, his resolve gaining a strength of its own. “ _He stabbed them through the centre of the forehead. It is their weak-point; the one place they cannot recover.”_

Hiccup nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Jack. Stoick coughed behind Jack’s back, and decorum said Jack should face his addressor. But Hiccup shook his head minutely, “Focus on me. You’re alright.”

 _“So the creatures are not mindless, then,”_ Stoick mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully, “ _That is the only reason that would be a weak point. Because you would be striking the point of control. And if there is a mind controlling those monsters…”_ Stoick sighed, slamming his fist upon the throne. _“That madman has created his monstrous ritual. Those poor souls.”_

Jack perked up at that, his eyes snapping away from Hiccup’s and training on Stoick, his scrutiny piercing. _“What do you mean, ‘poor souls’? What do you know?”_

Stoick eyed Jack with a strange sort of curiosity, not answering Jack’s question, but asking his own, “ _Why the interest, Prince of the South? What have you seen?”_

Jack swallowed, taken back at the Chief’s words. He looked back at Hiccup, who was giving Jack an equally puzzled look as his father’s. The only difference was that Hiccup’s face was not only intrigued, but concerned. Jack sighed, resigned.

_“In the tunnels, I was confronted by one of the creatures. It took the form of a woman. **It recognised me.** It blamed me, saying I had forsaken it. It was out for revenge.”_

There was a long, empty pause. Hiccup had a faraway look in his eyes, seeing something beyond Jack that was far from the Carusellen’s reach. Valka’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes fixed on her son, whilst Stoick pinched the bridge of his nose, deep in thought.

It was damn near palpable in the air; Jack was missing something. Something very important.

 _“We know our enemy,”_ Stoick growled out, _“They are dangerous – creatures born of human darkness; the suffering of man personified. If we are to fight this darkness – and it is a given that we will – we must prepare for all eventualities.”_

Stoick paused, his heavy gaze looking about the large room, taking in every face, every frieze depicting brave ancestors on the mottled walls, every carved guardian dragon that snarled from the corners of the room. _“This is why I have brought you here.”_ A heaving sigh, _“I invoke_ **Sacaren d’Relva Cren.”**

Jack blinked. Once. Twice.

The whole room seemed stunned.

Then, _chaos._

_“Stoick! What about the Southerner boy? You cannot really be saying-”_

_“The Southerner probably led them here! He is a spy!”_

_“Hiccup is not  ready for the_ **Sacaren** _! He has barely left the Archipelago!”_

_“Tell us you have another heir in mind, Stoick. This is madness!”_

_“ENOUGH!”_

The pressing crowds that had come forward in the uproar cringed away, fleeing under the glare of Queen Valka. The woman stood, a long, jagged staff in hand, and aimed her piercing eyes at anyone who dared get near Jack and Hiccup. Jack had practically curled into a ball on the throne during the onslaught. Hiccup, however… he hadn’t moved. If anything, he’d barely twitched. The only aspect of Hiccup that had changed was the look on his face; a look of sheer panic, eyes wide, lips thinned, frozen in place.

Stoick turned in his seat to face the two princes, looking sombre. _“If I die in this battle, Hekairen, you will have to lead our people. But you know our laws – the rites must be completed.”_

Hiccup nodded numbly. _“Yes, Father.”_

A firm nod from Stoick. Jack stared between the two of them, utterly bewildered.  _“It is settled then.”_ Stoick announced, getting up to address the hall of people, _“The first trial –_ **d’Sacaren d’Hermis** _– will commence at dusk.”_

Z

“I can’t believe him!”

Jack winced as another strange contraption was kicked across the room, spring coils bouncing out of place and rolling across the floor.

“Of all the things he could have done, he chooses _now_ to invoke the rites?! What is he thinking! Ohhh, wait, don’t tell me. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking ‘That boy thinks he’s all grown up – well if he’s so grown up, let’s make him successor! _’_ I never asked to be his son! I’d quite happily be just a plain old dragon knight, but no-”

“I have to be the Chief’s damned son; the guy that couldn’t even fight off a crotchety old man with a stick when he was fourteen. I was completely _useless –_ and I still am in his eyes, I know it! There’s always that disappointment with him, like he managed to get the only bad egg in a batch of good ones. **And I know he’s just waiting for me to disappoint him again** _.”_

_CRACK. Thud._

Jack never said a word during the whole tirade. He didn’t move from where he stood at the workshop’s entrance, flanked by Astrid and Heather. The three of them could only watch as Hiccup stormed around the poor, abused workshop, throwing tools and gadgets when the fancy took him, ranting until he was red in the face. It was only sensible to wait until Hiccup had got it all out of his system, otherwise they ran the risk of being accidentally back-handed around the face. Hiccup’s hands were certainly very animated when he was agitated.

Finally, Hiccup seemed to come to the end of his raving, throwing his hands down against his workbench, panting harshly. Jack moved silently, fluidly dodging pieces of shrapnel – the latest casualties in Hiccup’s workshop – and finally coming up behind his kindred, resting a hand on Hiccup’s back. He stayed like that, merely being an anchor that Hiccup could focus on whilst he came back to himself. Hiccup closed his eyes at the touch, breathing in deeply. On the exhale, he raised his head and looked Jack in the eye. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have to see me like that.”

Jack shrugged. “Actually, I should. But we’ll talk about that later. First…” Jack paused, considering his words carefully. “Could you please tell me what your father meant by ‘d’Sacaren d’Relva Cren? I mean, I know ‘d’Relva’ is _prince,_ which is you, which is stating the obvious. But I’m a bit lost in translation with the rest.”

Hiccup gave him a small smile. “I keep forgetting that you’re new to all this. All these Mûnthan traditions.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I’m new to Mûnthan _everything,”_ he replied pointedly.

Nodding, Hiccup leaned against his workbench, sliding down the coarse wood until he was sitting on the sooty floor, knees tucked up to his chest with both feet firmly on the ground before him. Taking his cue, Jack lowered himself to the floor, setting himself up next to Hiccup. Hiccup eyeballed Astrid and Heather, who both still lingered at the workshop entryway. “ _Will you be joining us for a history lesson in Sacaren d’Relva Cren?”_ he quipped.

Astrid snorted, and Heather hid a small smile behind her hand. “ _No thanks, Captain. We already know. And since you have stopped breaking stuff like a yak in a pottery barn, I think it is safe to say Jack can handle things from here.”_

Hiccup glowered at her. _“Thank you. You make me sound like a rabid dragon.”_

Astrid pretended to think about that, before saying, _“No, I think my yak analogy was better. At least dragons have intelligence.”_

_“Again – thank you for summing that up. Were you not leaving?”_

_“Actually, yes,”_ Astrid smiled sweetly, taking Heather’s arm. _“Heather has to prepare the second trial for you, and I have offered to help.”_

Hiccup smirked. _“Any excuse.”_

 _“Says you,”_ Astrid threw back, looking between Hiccup and Jack knowingly. Hiccup had no response for that. He just rolled his eyes in irritation. Whatever Astrid was insinuating, it didn’t stop Hiccup from taking Jack’s hand, locking their fingers together.

With one last, triumphant look at the pair, Astrid turned and practically sashayed out of the forge, taking a giggling – although slightly apologetic - Heather with her.

Jack watched the two of them leave with a fond smile. In the two weeks Jack had been on Berk Mountain – squirreled away in the Moon Temple – those girls had been his only friends and company; teaching him the foreign tongue, ancient rites, Mûnthan customs, all the while supporting him and making him see sense whenever he started to doubt. A sort of kinship had formed between them in that time; Jack felt no less than brotherly affection for those two girls. It was nice. Jack had never had that before.

As they left, Hiccup sighed deeply, tilting his head back against the worktop, staring out into nothing. “What am I going to do, Jack?” he whispered.

Jack frowned. “Explaining to me what’s going on would be a good start.”

Hiccup nodded absently, his tired eyes looking across Jack’s features. Resigned, he settled against the rough-hewn table, closed his eyes, and began,“The _Sacaren d’Relva –_ or rather, the Rites of the Crown Royal – started hundreds of years ago. Back when the Five Phoenixes still roamed the skies. It was dark times; there was no means to establish leadership except through bloodshed. There was no real trust or loyalty – being Chief was a test of survival of the fittest. Or in most cases, the most brutal. Many good men lost their lives challenging the tyrants that led them.” Hiccup pressed his lips together, a dark look crossing his face. Jack watched him, puzzled, but before he could comment, Hiccup was speaking again.

“Eventually the Phoenixes saw fit to intervene. They summoned the Mûnthan Chiefs to The Silent Precipice – a place of neutral ground– and gave them each five tasks. Each clan had different tasks to fulfil, so no Chief could help - or hinder - another. If a man failed more than two of his tasks, he was unfit to rule. The punishment was pretty severe. The Black Plague was still a free-roaming spirit back then, so the penalty for leading when you were clearly unfit to was to lose yourself to the Black Plague.”

Hiccup went quiet then. Jack stared at him, images of those shadowy creatures flitting through his mind. “Lose yourself?” Jack prompted.

Hiccup smiled, but it was hollow. “The Plague is an embodiment of human fault. Fear, anger, despair, doubt… losing yourself to it can drive a man to insanity. Most wouldn’t live long after.”

Jack gulped, his body subconsciously curling in upon itself. Hiccup squeezed his hand reassuringly, before carrying on. “Anyway, after the first, the next successor would try, and so on.”

“Why would you risk it?” Jack asked softly.

Hiccup laughed. It still sounded hollow to Jack’s ears. “The risk hasn’t been quite so great recently, what with the Black Plague being defeated by Fares. You just end up being a complete disappointment to your tribe if you fail.”

Jack watched Hiccup for a moment, taking in the embittered tone of his kindred’s voice. He rubbed gentle circles into the back of Hiccup’s hand. Hiccup gave him a grateful smile, before sighing and carrying on. “There would be a task from each Phoenix – the order of the tasks is unique to each tribe, and the task traditionally given is a secret to all but the Chiefs and the Advocates of the dragon.” Hiccup glanced sideways at Jack, who shook his head sadly.

“Heather has told me nothing.”

“I figured as much. Oh well. The first task given to my ancestor was the Rite of Hermis, followed by Charis, then Verdis, then Fares, and finally Laris. Hermis was the patron passion, power and valour. His task will be a test of _courage_.”

Jack took in the other carefully, noting the tremor in his voice, and the worry and doubt that passed over his features like shadows. Jack squeezed his hand again gently, whispering, “From what I’ve seen… from all I’ve _heard…_ you have so much bravery inside of you. There is no way you could fail.”

When Hiccup remained silent, Jack sighed and moved closer, resting his head on Hiccup’s shoulder. “My father used to tell me that bravery is not the absence of fear. To be unafraid in the face of danger shows recklessness and foolishness. If you are afraid to fail, I’m glad. It shows greater humanity to stand strong – and wary - with that fear, than fight the fool’s battle without it.”

Hiccup let out a long breath, blinking slowly and turning his face so his cheek rested atop Jack’s head. “Your father is a wise man,” he murmured, “But it isn’t Hermis or his task I’m afraid of.”

Jack frowned, shifting to look up at Hiccup questioningly.

“I have doubts, Jack,” he explained, “I have since meeting you. Many doubted I could ever be chief when I was younger. You saw me - I was a scrawny thing with little more than my brain and my skills to help me. But my path was clear; I was my father’s successor.” He hissed in a breath. “Then the slavers took me.”

Bronze chains around bruised wrists. Dirty, olive green rags. A collar cutting into a bruised and blistered neck. Jack flinched back from the memories, not even noticing how he clung even tighter to Hiccup beside him.

“Before that, I had my life laid out for me. But Jack… the Moon Dragon meant for me to find you. _You._ A Prince by your own right in a kingdom far beyond the reaches of the Sea of Clouds.” He shook his head slowly.

“My father is trying to pull me back onto my original path. It’s why he’s kept me here. It’s why he’s invoked the rites. But whilst my people have laid out a plan for me, I’m not sure if the fates’ plan is the same. Do you understand me?” He look Jack in the eye, searchingly. Jack could only blink at the fervour in Hiccup’s words. He looked so lost.

“I-I’m not sure this – my life in the Archipelago – is my destiny anymore. Or if it ever was. I was _supposed to find you, Jack._ And you were beyond the Archipelago.”

Hiccup’s words settled on Jack like heavy fog, their meaning ringing out in his ears. Hiccup – _Hekairen, son of Chief Storekin of Berk Mountain –_ had found Jack – his kindred, soulmate, _Sel’a –_ beyond the Sea of Clouds. Perhaps that meant his destiny was to be found there too.

Neither boy spoke after that. They simply stayed holding each other, lost in their own thoughts.

Because if Hiccup was unsure about his path, what was Jack’s situation in comparison?

 

 

 


	13. The Measure of Valour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uber thank you to my dear Swift, who not only edits my stuff, but also gives me essays of questions to answer.  
> It is through her eagle-eye prowess alone that I have no plot-holes what so ever. Thank you, Swifty. :)

_Chapter XIII_

**_ The Measure of Valour _ **

  
It had taken three attempts to get Hiccup and Jack to move from the forge. At first, Heather had come in to just gently remind them it was only a few hours before sunset. They’d nodded silently, but it didn’t really register. A while later, Valka had turned up to tell Hiccup she’d prepared his armour for him, and that he should check his weapons. Hiccup had numbly agreed, but didn’t move from where he was folded into Jack’s side, the way Jack was tucked into his. Eventually, Valka had left too.

Finally, Gobber had turned up, taken one look at the two boys, and muttered “ _These two_ …”  
They didn’t even notice when Gobber puttered over to his anvil, nor when he picked up a particularly large hammer. They were both still staring into space, hands interlocked with gentle, soothing touches as their only reminder that they weren’t alone in the world. Then, without warning, Gobber slammed the heavy hammer into the workbench surface, mere inches from where the boys’ heads were.

Jack sprang to his feet, clutching his cloak around him like a comfort blanket, Hiccup following after him, rolling across the floor. Ending in a low crouch in front of Jack, he pulls the knife from his boot, holding it defensively in front of his own body. His weight shifted, purposely putting himself between Jack and any perceived threat.

Gobber raised an eyebrow. “ _Jumpy, are we_?”

Hiccup growled, sheathing the knife. “ _You know not to sneak up on me like that_.”

Gobber shrugged. “ _I walked right in front of you. Not my fault you are not payin’ attention_.” He glanced over at Jack, scratching the back of his head. _“It is nearly sunset, lads. Jack – Heather wants you back at the temple. Seems she needs your help setting up the second Task.”_

Jack nodded silently, still a bit shaken up from the crude wake-up call. His eyes flicked between Hiccup and Gobber, before he sighed and walked back to Hiccup’s side. “I have faith in you,” Jack whispered softly, and leant in to press a quick kiss to Hiccup’s cheek.

Hiccup blinked, his hands moving automatically until they stilled, as he forced himself not to pull Jack back to him as the pale boy pulled away. Jack had flushed yet another interesting shade of red, Hiccup noted, as he swiftly departed from the forge to help with whatever Heather required. Leaving Hiccup alone with his tutor.

Gobber sighed. “ _I take it when Val told you to ready your weapons, you took absolutely no notice of her.”_

Hiccup didn’t answer, merely scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Gobber rolled his eyes. _“I should not do this – they are your Rites after all – but pass them over. You need to get your armour on and get some supplies. Might want to saddle up Toothless as well.”_

Hiccup blinked at the old blacksmith, before giving him a grateful smile. _“Thank you, Gobber.”_

_“Yeah, yeah. But on a serious note, you need to get your head screwed on right. These Tasks are **hard.** Stoick only managed to pass three of them.”_

Hiccup blinked at Gobber owlishly. _“Really?”_

_“Really. So get your head out of the clouds for once. Go get ready.”_

Hiccup nodded, handing over his throwing knife and then padding over to a small cupboard at the side of the forge, hidden by a long draping curtain. After a quick rummage, he emerged with his sword, a small quiver of arrows that were no thicker or longer than Hiccup’s charcoal pencil, and a small, draw-string bow that could be tied to his wrist – a creation of his own design, inspired by similar contraptions he’d seen in Corona. Gobber raised an eyebrow. “ _Full artillery, eh?”_

Hiccup shugged. _“Technically, I am not taking the bow and full-size arrows. And do you think I will need the Zippleback gas and Smokebreath smoke screen where I am going?”_

Gobber gave him a wry look. “ _Nice try, Hekairen. Take them if you want to, but you will get nothing out of me.”_

Hiccup smirked, prodding Gobber playfully. “ _It was worth a shot.”_

 _  
_-:-

  
Like sand slipping through an hourglass, time moved swiftly. Before anyone could blink, it was already sunset. Below the precipice of the mountainside, on the outskirts of the town, the clouds swirled a deep purple as the sky was painted scarlet and gold, the sun sinking fast. Hiccup stared out to the horizon, adjusting the straps on his riding cuffs. The leathers fit snugly around him, made for streamline agility. The only addition Valka had insisted upon was the fur cloak that now draped around his shoulders, pinned at the right shoulder with the Berkian crest.

Gobber had returned his weapons to him, all glinting and sharpened to wicked precision. The tiny quiver of bolts was now strapped to his right thigh, the knife slipped back into its hidden pouch on his left boot. At his hip hung a short rod for torch-making, resting the opposite side to his sword - now safe in its scabbard. Self-consciously, he adjusted the drawstring on the miniature bow, now secured to the back of his right hand.

Each detail, deadly or not, had been designed meticulously by Hiccup. Except one crucial thing that Hiccup could never be without; it now rested beneath the leather armour on his chest, beneath his tunic, the metal warmed by his own skin. Hiccup could feel the compass with every heartbeat.

He was as ready as he would ever be. Except for one thing.

The entire village was there, watching, waiting. Except one key figure, the one Hiccup needed to see most desperately before starting this Fares-forsaken quest. Where was Jack?

Hiccup scoured the entire crowd, hoping to glimpse that familiar mop of white in the masses. Toothless shifted next to him, sensing his rider’s unease. He nuzzled Hiccup’s shoulder, reassuring him with a small coo. Hiccup absently stroked the dragon’s head. “I’m alright, Buddy. I’m fine. I just… I don’t understand why…”  
He perked up when he saw Heather and Astrid hurrying towards the cliff where the village had gathered, but frowned when Jack was still not with them. He marched over to them, leaving Toothless to watch him in bemusement.

“ _Where is Jack_?” he demanded in a whisper, pulling Astrid to one side. The girl pressed her lips into a thin line. Her face was carefully neutral.

“ _He is back at the temple. Preparing the second Task_.”

Hiccup’s eyes narrowed, scrutinising her. “ _You are lying_.”

“ _I am_ ,” she replied, her face still giving nothing away. Hiccup growled.

“ _Where is he?”_

 _“At the temple.”_ That was the truth.

Hiccup’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a harsh breath through his nose. _“And why is he not here?”_

 _“He is indisposed,”_ was Astrid’s calm reply.

**_“What in Fares does that mean?”_ **

Before Astrid could reply, the bugle sounded. At the cliff, Stoick and Valka waited, gesturing for Hiccup to come hither. Hiccup gulped, before throwing an acidic glare at Astrid. She bit her lower lip as he turned away, only to pull him back at the last moment.

To everyone else, it looked like a brief hug between life-long friends. Possibly a muttered ‘Good luck’ passed between them. Only Hiccup could hear her harsh whisper; “ _It means you better succeed in this Task, and get back here before midnight. Or so help me Hiccup, I may never forgive you. Or myself.”_

Hiccup wrenched away from the hug, staring at Astrid in utter bewilderment. Her eyes flicked over to where Toothless stood waiting, urging him to go. Hiccup stared at her, trying to understand what she just said… and what it meant. The only thing that met his stare was a look of grim resignation.

When he reached the cliff’s edge, he greeted his parents numbly before climbing into the saddle on Toothless’ back. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Hiccup could sense it, the truth of it gnawing at his insides like a wolf would worry a bone. With that sense of dread still bubbling inside him, he looked his father, meeting his gaze square in the eye.

“ _I am ready.”_ Every muscle in his body and every thought in his head screamed otherwise, but he pushed it away, focusing on the task at hand.

Stoick nodded, before addressing the village. “ _On the first day, at sunset, our ancestors met Hermis as we do now. Bestowed upon my forefathers was the first Rite of Succession, and this Rite follows thus…”_

He faced Hiccup then, his face giving nothing away except the solemnness of the occasion. “ _Your task, Hekairen, is to retrieve a Fire Stone from the pits of Mount Lavlo. Do this before the moon reaches its zenith, or face the Black Plague.”_

Hiccup gaped for a second. _“Dad – the Black Plague is still leagues away. What are you talking about?”_

Stoick’s face darkened. “ _The Plague is everywhere, son. But more often than not, it waits dormant in the hearts of Man.”_ He coughed, “ _I can say no more. May the Moon Dragon watch over you.”_

 _“May She light your soul’s way,”_ The entire village chorused in unison, like the finalising of a prayer.

Hiccup gulped nervously, Toothless shifting his weight under him in his restlessness. The rider never looked away from his father, silently asking ‘ _is everything going to be alright?’_

Stoick said nothing, merely patting Hiccup gruffly on the shoulder. _“Good luck, son,”_ he muttered before addressing the village again. “ _May the Rites commence!”_

The bugle sounded again, and with his heart in his throat, Hiccup spurred Toothless on, taking to the skies. A final glance back told him that no – Jack was still not there. Something was wrong.

But right now, Hiccup had bigger things to worry about.

  
-:-

  
Getting to Mount Lavlo was never the challenge. Hiccup knew exactly where to find the desolate mountain, which wasn’t so much of a mountain as it was a dormant – but still somewhat temperamental – _volcano._ It stuck out like a sore thumb in the Archipelago Mountains – whilst most volcanic soil was extremely fertile, this was a land of brimstone and sulphur, the entire mountainside a barren wasteland compared to its fir-tree covered neighbours. Merely a quarter-hour flight north-east from Berk Mountain, the volcano was damn-near close to inhabitable. Only close, though, for it was said to be home to a wretched and terrible creature, far worse than the any foe Hiccup had yet faced.

However, once he had dismounted and started setting about finding an entrance, he found it was a bit more of a challenge getting Toothless to remain above ground. Every crack that led into the volcano's depths was barely large enough to fit a human, let alone a dragon. As it was, Hiccup had to almost curl in upon himself, twisting awkwardly to fit through the only opening he could find. For once, he was pleased he wasn’t built like Snotlout. As he made his way through the twisting passages, Toothless let out a heart-wrenching wail, the roar echoing and following Hiccup as he moved onward.

 He felt a pang of guilt. He’d poorly neglected his _Gragor’a_ these last few days, and Toothless’ impatience with him proved it. That, and the dragon was very unhappy at the prospect of being left behind, whilst Hiccup went delving of into the – obviously very dangerous – unknown.

Toothless was a very protective creature, after all. And Hiccup, as a youngster, had been very accident prone.

Being chosen by a dragon was a rite of passage in the Archipelago. And it was a case of the dragon choosing you – not the other way around. It’s said dragons have a sixth sense, that they can see the souls of men like their patron – Laris, the White Phoenix – could. And that with this sense, they’d find their partner and match. Then you would be _Gragor’a –_ a powerful bond not unlike a sorcerer and their familiar.

Imagine the whole of Berk’s surprise when, at the tender age of ten, the chief’s runt of a son was chosen by no less than the Legendary Night Fury. Stoick thought fate was playing a cruel trick, and that the Night Fury had some kind of fault. When none could be found with the beast, Valka had slapped her husband upside the head and said, “ _Clearly, the dragon sees something you do not.”_

Toothless had been Hiccup’s faithful (if exasperated) companion ever since – barring those six months when he was fourteen – and leaving him behind now didn’t sit right with the Mûnthan prince. But it was Hiccup’s Tasks, and Hiccup’s alone. Toothless couldn’t follow him anyway. Much to Hiccup’s chagrin.

 The tunnels were dark, the blackness thickening along with the stifling air as Hiccup made his way deeper and deeper into the cavernous volcano. He could barely see a thing, and that alone was nauseating. The darkness seemed to grip at his throat with cold fingers, the air coming in short gasps. Even then, the very air itself seemed slow and sluggish, soured by the smell of burning brimstone and sulphuric fumes. He could almost taste it as he fought for air, breathing in pants through his mouth. The darkness was oppressive as it pushed in from all sides, and Hiccup – already starting to feel the twist of panic knotting itself in his stomach - was forced to stop, yanking furiously at his belt, fumbling for the short rod with shaky fingers.

With the rod clutched in one hand and a bit of fast handiwork (and a vial of nightmare venom he’d managed to secret away), he fashioned himself a torch, lighting it with the flinty slates he’d found scattered about the passage floor.

The effects were instant. The moment that spark ignited and bathed the tunnel in a warm glow, Hiccup could feel the tightness in his throat and stomach easing, receding into nothing. He took a deep, soothing breath, looking up along the tunnel.

With the passage now clearer - the task at hand took on an entirely new light. _Literally._

Before him, the tunnel led further and further into a dark abyss, the heat lapping at his skin in waves. But what caught Hiccup’s eye was the streaks of soot that coated the walls of the tunnel. Not one thick layer, like settling dust would, but _streaks._ Like millions of insects had scuttled over the walls, leaving little trails in their wake. Hiccup shivered, despite the warm air, and kept moving forward, the torch in his hand held high. He knocked a bolt into his small crossbow, eyes flicking from one side of the cave to the other. Just a precaution - for now.

The tunnel narrowed even more as he progressed, to the point where Hiccup was sliding sideways through cramped, jagged slits of rock, forced to duck and weave his body repeatedly to avoid being cut to ribbons by the sharp fissures. Despite this, his armour and clothes were still catching on the rough walls, the wicked, long fingers of slate that protruded from the walls nicking his cheeks and bared neck as he moved. The feeling of being forced into such impossible spaces made Hiccup breathless and dizzy, the sensation just as harrowing as it had been all those years ago. He held the torch aloft in his hand as he tried to suck in his breath. Still the jagged rocks sliced at him, jabbing at his stomach as he slid past. Hiccup could only thank the Moon Dragon – and his mother – for the armour.

He felt he’d been moving onward for hours, and yet he wasn’t getting anywhere. The floor had started sloping downwards a while back; a slow, spiralling descent into what Hiccup hoped would be the volcano’s core.

That was where the Rapturer – master of the Fire Stones – was rumoured to dwell.

There were plenty of old stories about the Rapturer. Mostly of how he’d been an old hermit once, before he’d been swallowed whole by the Black Plague. The man had been corrupted so completely, there was no longer any trace of humanity in him. It was even rumoured that the Rapturer had been one of the Plague’s Knights of Oblivion – the very creatures that had, one by one, plunged the Phoenixes into darkness.

Of course, the Rapturer could easily be an embittered old mage, trapped in the volcano for some wicked felony. Either way, Hiccup knew the creature’s weapon would be Hiccup’s own fears. Already, the volcano itself had tried to make him succumb to the dark. He should have been better guarded.

He shook himself out of those thoughts. Hiccup couldn’t reach the core fast enough. There was a reason he much preferred the open skies to anything else in the world; the fresh air and warm sunlight upon his skin, the wind sweeping through his hair like a loving caress. The walls here were too close, constantly closing in upon him. He panted, shaking himself of the feeling and pushing onward.

 _A Test of Valour._ His old fears couldn’t stop him. He wouldn’t let them.

Finally, the tunnel seemed to have widened, giving Hiccup a chance to breathe freely. He was still forced to duck somewhat, else he’d crack his head against the low rocks above him. The air was warm and hazy, and sweat dripped down his collar, chasing a path down to where the compass lay against his chest – strangely, yet thankfully cool against his skin now. It reminded Hiccup of Jack’s own cool, soothing touch.

Suddenly, a great gust of hot air whirled down the tunnel, its heat scorching Hiccup’s skin. He braced himself, his arms hiding his face from the wind’s onslaught. But the action had made him drop the torch – the light was gone in seconds, battered away by the furious wind. And Hiccup was now plunged into complete black.

 _“Oh Fares,”_ Hiccup breathed as the wind died. He clutched around him, eventually finding the wall, and leant against it heavily. It was so _dark_. And the humidity stole any oxygen that Hiccup desperately needed, forcing him to gasp for air again. He felt winded, and the toxic air around him offered no help. The acrid taste of sulphur and brimstone seemed stronger, thick and pungent as it filled his lungs, making him choke and splutter as he desperately sought out air. He couldn’t see a thing, not even his own hands before his face. There was a roaring in his ears now that had nothing to do with the wind. It was like a rhythmic drum, pounding in his head. His heart was literally leaping inside his chest like a frantic bird, slamming furiously against the compass that could offer no comfort to Hiccup now. Hiccup clutched at his head, trying desperately to concentrate. The world felt like it was spinning as he slumped to the floor, the rocky walls melting away in his mind’s eye, only to be replaced by the unforgiving, woodworm infested walls that still haunted Hiccup’s nightmares.

Do not be afraid. Do _not_ be afraid. _Do not be afraid._

Voices echoed inside his head. Cruel laughter – laughter he’d not heard for many years. Memories of being bound and gagged, thrown into darkness before having the world slammed away from him, stealing any light. Stealing any space. Sometimes he wouldn’t see the sky for days. His skin crawled with memories of being bound for hours on end, the chains and manacles chafing welts into his skin, followed by the slow burn of sweat and grime filling the wound. The smell was worse than the volcano. The air was thin and repugnant. The walls just seemed to close in, the space just getting tighter, and _Fares help him, he could not **breathe…**_

“Hey.”

Hiccup’s head snapped up from where he’d curled in upon himself. His breathing was still raspy and haggard as he stared up at the vision before him.

Because it was clearly a vision. The ethereal glow around the small figure was the easiest clue. It pooled around the vision, banishing the darkness in a good three-yard radius, lighting the walls of the tunnel, bathing them in white. The light seemed to leech away all colour, but at least you could see where you were going.

But more obvious than the figure’s glow was the fact that he’d seen that figure years ago, with his dark hair, kind eyes and impish smile.

He’d seen him more recently, also. But now his hair was white.

A twelve year old Prince Jack peered down at Hiccup, frowning. “Are you alright?”

Hiccup breathed in slowly, focusing on the glowing vision. “I will be,” he croaked, slowly getting to his feet. His eyes flicked around him, settling to his left, where the unlit torch lay. He reached for it, but before he could take it, the young version of Jack cleared his throat. “Don’t bother. They will just kill it again if you try. They don’t like light.”

“They?” Hiccup asked, eyebrow raised.

Little Jack nodded. Then, without a word, he began walking down the tunnels. Hiccup took his cue, and followed the boy silently. He unsheathed his sword, the handle slippery in his palm. Obviously, this wasn’t the real Jack. Which meant one of two things – Hiccup was going insane, or he was walking into a trap.  


-:-

  
It was a while before Hiccup saw light at the end of the tunnel. Jack – little Jack, the boy that had haunted Hiccup’s dreams for years – just kept walking forward, never looking back. Not another word past between them, and every instinct Hiccup had told him to turn back. But for the life of him – he _couldn’t._ Whenever he turned and looked over his shoulder, seeing the endless darkness behind him, Hiccup couldn’t help but be repulsed by the idea. So he kept going, blindly following a glowing apparition, clinging to the light. He clutched his sword tighter.

When they finally stepped out into the daylight, Hiccup stopped dead in his tracks.

_No. It couldn’t be._

They stood at the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond it was a long, winding path, with a dark, thick forest that pressed in on either side. A sense of foreboding filled the air, promising that straying from the path would lead to certain death.

Hiccup had been here before. Even the camp, set up in the thistle-filled clearing to the side of the spindly road, was frighteningly familiar. Empty, iron cages – at least five of them – dotted the site, the iron bars jagged and coated in rust. Hiccup remembered the cuts on his hands from gripping the bars, trying to steady himself when the cage jolted along the bumpy road of earthen rock and embedded pine needles. He remembered the gasps and groans of pain around him- eleven other human voices squashed into the cages with barely breathing space - drowned out by the whinnies of monstrous, black horses that tirelessly pulled their caravan southward.

A fire dwindled in the centre of the seemingly abandoned camp, surrounded by ragged, threadbare cloths and abandoned tankards, emptied of ale. But, abandoned or not, the very sight of the place shook Hiccup to the core. They couldn’t be here. It was impossible. And yet…

Suddenly, Hiccup very much regretted not turning back when he had the chance. The darkness was one thing. But this?

His hand trembled as he raised his sword, pointing it directly at the young boy’s back. “Where have you taken me?” he tried to growl, but his voice betrayed him in its quiver.

The boy turned to face Hiccup, and the look of his face made the Mûnthan give pause. Jack’s eyes were wide with horror and fear, his lips and body trembling like a leaf in the wind. “I don’t know,” he whispered, “I knew we had to go forward, so I did. But I… I _don’t know where we are…”_ Frightened eyes locked on his, pleading. Trusting. “Hiccup, I’m scared. Where are we?”

The fear looked so real, so genuine, Hiccup felt his own heart cry out, the desire to protect his young, distressed Sel’a burning him from the inside out. The boy took a step toward Hiccup, his eyes puffy and red as they began to water. Hiccup forced himself to snap out of it, shaking his head furiously and poising his sword once again.

Little Jack stopped short, eyes widening at the sword in Hiccup’s hand. “Please don’t hurt me,” he breathed. Hiccup’s chest clenched; the fear was palpable in those petrified, whispered words. _Fares on high, he sounded so young…_ like a lost child.

Jack raised his hands slowly. “Hiccup. Please. You’re scaring me.” The vision flickered, and for a moment it was _Jack –_ eighteen, with a head of white hair and stunning blue eyes that glistened with unshed tears. “You’re scaring me, Hiccup,” he repeated, “How can I trust you if you do _this_?”

Hiccup could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks, the words twisting and wrenching something inside him. “You aren’t Jack,” Hiccup ground out through his teeth. The vision flickered again, and little Jack was back, taking a step forward. Hiccup flinched back, slicing at the air in warning. “You aren’t REAL!” he yelled furiously.

“Doesn’t matter though, does it?”

Hiccup felt every muscle in his body freeze up, his blood running cold at that crackling, hoarse voice. Slowly, his head turned to look at one of the empty cages – seemingly harmless before, if not a repulsive memory.

From behind the cage, a hulking figure with beady eyes, yellowing teeth and the gait of a battle-worn bear separated itself from the shadows.

Hiccup shook his head, disbelieving. _It couldn’t be._ Hiccup was on Mount Lavlo, in the middle of the Sea of Clouds. That man was _banished._ He couldn’t set foot on Mûnthan soil again. He couldn’t _be_ here.

“After all,” the figure – Alvin, former warrior of Berk Mountain, betrayer, tradesman of slavery and the bane of Hiccup’s memory – stepped forward, smirking, “If what your feelin’ is real, doesn’t matter if you’re dreamin’ now, eh?”

Hiccup’s eyes narrowed, body tense and sword ready. “If you come anywhere near me-”

Alvin raised his hands, placating. “Now now, little Hiccup – whoever said I came here to find _you?”_

Hiccup’s breath caught in his throat, eyes flicking from Alvin to the small boy standing not five paces from where Hiccup stood. Jack watched on wide eyed, staring at Alvin in a mix of awe and terror. Alvin laughed.

“It ain’t always about you, boy! You’ve got somethin’ I want, true. An’ you know how I’m like about debts an’ all…”

“I don’t owe you anything!” Hiccup spat furiously.

“ _You_ don’t,” Alvin smiled, “However, your little friend here owes me an _apology._ Quite rude, he was – spoilt little brat. Took half me stock, and then me own slave, just to go set ‘em free.”  
Alvin’s eyes darkened, “I don’t like bein’ tricked like that. Bad for business…” he trailed off as his gaze moved from Hiccup to Jack, who watched their exchange helplessly.

“Hiccup…” he whispered. “Help me…”

Hiccup growled, grasping for his throwing knife. Vision or not, he’d rather die before he saw Alvin lay one hand on Jack. “Stay away from him.”

Alvin chuckled darkly. “Or what, hm? What are you going to do, _boy_?”

Hiccup’s hands groped fruitlessly at his boot, searching for his knife. With a snarl of frustration, he looked down to his leg – _where was that damn knife?! –_ only to halt in his tracks.

No knife. No weapons. No armour. _Nothing._

He didn’t even have boots on. The breeches floated on him, threadbare and filled with holes. The tunic – a dirty olive green – was not much better off. But worst of all the chains. Those bronze chains were somehow coiled all around him again, in the place of his runic tattoos. Even the sword in his hand had changed – no longer his prized _Endeavour –_ it was blunt, rusted, and barely any use at all.

Without his even noticing, magic had reverted Hiccup six years. On the outside, Hiccup stood stock still, barely breathing and eyes blown wide with panic. On the inside, he was screaming.

“What _are_ you going to do, Hiccup?” Alvin cooed, his words practically dripping with malevolence.

Hiccup was drawing a blank. What _could_ he do? He numbly tested his restraints, sucking in a jolted breath when he heard the familiar, hollow _clink_ that followed his movements.

“ _Get OFF ME!”_

Hiccup’s head snapped up at that, pulled from his terror-filled stupor at the sound of Jack’s own terrified voice. Somehow, Alvin had made his way to Jack without Hiccup’s notice, and the young boy now struggled in the barbarian’s grip. Small fists pounded at the man’s chest, not even drawing a wince from Alvin.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, a long – again, _familiar –_ knife slipped into Alvin’s waiting hand. He spun Jack around to face Hiccup, keeping him pressed to his hulking form with one thick arm. He pressed the knife to Jack’s jugular in an open threat. Jack whimpered as he was forced to tilt his head back submissively.

“What am I goin’ to do with a Southern beauty like yourself, eh, Your Highness? You’d fetch a pretty coin as you are… all nice and intact… _untouched,_ you might say. But, I might just keep you for meself!” He grinned nastily at Hiccup, “What do you think, Hic? Does he look like a fast learner to you? I’ll teach him what it is to be a _man,_ shall I? After all, you enjoyed those lessons _so much,_ didn’t you?”

Hiccup thrashed in his bonds, blood boiling under his skin. “Get _away from him!_ Don’t touch him! _Jack!”_

The Mûnthan prince’s voice broke as he cried out for his Sel’a. _No. No, not Jack. Please, anything but him._ Hiccup couldn’t bear it.

Bad enough that Hiccup’s own purity – which was Jack’s by right – had been stolen and defiled by this disgusting usurper. Bad enough that Hiccup spent _years_ learning how to accept a kind hand. That morning – all those years ago – he’d touched Jack, and let him touch _so easily…_ he’d thought nothing of it. But Jack was _Jack._

It took years for Hiccup to even accept a friendly pat on the back from Astrid. The wounds had been so _raw._ Even now, there were scars. But Jack… the idea that something similar might happen to him… the thought of him being ripped apart and left to ruin…No. _No._ Not him.

Please – _please, anything but him._

The chains on his arms tightened minutely, like a hand squeezing him in comfort. Hiccup barely noticed.

Alvin laughed as he watched Hiccup’s struggle, rejoicing in the tears that poured freely down his cheeks. Under his grip, Jack squirmed, reaching out to Hiccup pleadingly. With a smirk, Alvin leaned down towards the twelve-year-old boy, looking Hiccup directly in the eye, and licked Jack from collarbone to cheek.

Jack cried out in disgust, writhing madly before he was stilled again by sharp metal on his tender throat.

Alvin sighed happily. “Ah, delicious. He tastes like rainwater, you know? Like morning dew.” He barked out a laugh as Hiccup redoubled his efforts to free himself, but the more he tried to move forward, the tighter the chains became, glowing a bright white each time.

Alvin laughed raucously, twisting Jack’s head to one side and licking the shell of his ear. Jack gasped, eyes squeezing tight as if he could block out the sensation by not seeing the act. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes regardless. Alvin hummed, lapping up the salt-water. One of his large, meaty hands wandered southward, groping at the boy’s leg before trailing up his inner thigh – a nausea-inducing tease. His dirty nails then dug into the little prince’s inner thigh – too close to his groin for comfort – causing the boy to scream out.

“STOP IT!”

Finally he looked back at Hiccup, who thrashed harder against his bonds. With every pull, the chains strained – turning from their dull bronze to a brilliant silver intermittently. Alvin’s eyes narrowed at that, but he carried on regardless.

 “Stop it? And tell me, Hiccup, why should I do that? Listen to that scream, ain’t it pretty? You used to scream like that, y’know. I bet he’ll be nice and tight, just like you were before my boys all had at you. Do you remember Valek? He remembers you.”

Hiccup glared at Alvin hatefully, biting at his tongue until he could taste blood. He wouldn’t give Alvin the satisfaction. He would be _damned_ before he gave Alvin the satisfaction.

“Tell you what, boy. Give in – give up on this quest. Give in and give yourself over to me, and I’ll let the boy go free. And he’ll be free of you too.” Alvin’s eyes gleamed wickedly, “Why would he want you anyway?” He grabbed little Jack’s face by the chin, forcing him to look at Hiccup. His face was a mess, tears falling down cheeks reddened by the bruising grip they were held in. “Fares knows why he freed you in the first place. You looked like a street urchin. You were a useless, pathetic creature that was good for nothing except warming the beds of my men at night. Look at you! Nothing has changed!”

Hiccup seethed where he stood. “Free me, then, damn it! Let Jack go and I’ll show you exactly how much I’ve learned in six years!”

Alvin sneered. “And yet you stand before me, a cowering wreck, chained by your own insecurities. Had Jack not gone to find you, you’d still be curled up on yourself in the dark. Coward! Useless, weak, naïve coward!”

“No!” the small prince yelled out, kicking at Alvin again, only to be silenced by a quick backhand. The prince yelped, thrown by the force of being hit. When he looked toward Hiccup again, he could see the blood trickling down the young boy’s chin.

Hiccup hissed, “Let _go of him,_ damn you!”

“You thought you could escape me?” Alvin continued, unfazed, “You think you’ll ever truly be free? Once a slave, _always_ a slave, boy. Only now,” Alvin bared his teeth in a malicious grin, “you are a slave to your own doubts.”

Hiccup shivered at the venomous words that seemed to turn the air icy cold. A low, dim humming started to resonate inside Hiccup’s head, like a hoard of angry bees.

“You’re wrong.” Hiccup ground out, tugging at the chains. “What do I have to doubt? I’m Captain of the Knights, a position I’ve _earned_ by improving and learning. Free me and I will show you!”

Alvin laughed. “Free yourself, little Prince. I don’t command your chains. But this-” his hands squeezed Jack intimately, and the boy whimpered, “this boy has caused you much doubt, hasn’t he?”

Hiccup swallowed drily. “No. No I’ve never doubted Jack, I-”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Hiccup!” Alvin crowed, “All those years, trapped in the mountains, knowing full well Jack was a southerner. He wasn’t tied to you. He doesn’t need you! And what about when he _did_ need you, hmm?” Alvin’s face crinkled into a cruel sneer, “What about when his kingdom fell to ruins? When he was lost in the catacombs beneath BenHul forest? When he and his friends were thrown from the mountain’s edge in the Mirror Valley? Or when he was sent plunging into Mirror Lake itself, to be saved only by the Moon Dragon because _no one else would help him._ Where were you, oh great Protector?”

“I was enchanted! I couldn’t help that! I wanted to go to him – I sent Astrid-”

“Excuses!” Alvin roared with glee, watching as Hiccup’s arguments became more frantic, and more breakable. “You were _nowhere._ You offered _nothing._ This boy waited _years_ for you to return. He believed himself abandoned, utterly alone, _unwanted._ Are you happy that the man that protected your Sel’a for years, who offered him a relief of happiness – the one you were so _jealous_ of – is now dead? Does that warm your heart, Hiccup? How about the two Guild members that died saving him from the Trogs? Does their sacrifice please you, you selfish, envious monster?” he paused, then delivered the final blow, “Do you ever wonder how Jack feels about all this?”

Hiccup shivered under those heavy words, his eyes falling on the twelve-year-old’s still form in Alvin’s arms. No longer sobbing or pleading, nor thrashing and kicking out, the boy refused to look Hiccup in the eye, his gaze lost, dull and sightless. Every ounce of fight had left him. He looked like a broken doll.

Hiccup stared at the boy. It was as if he were looking into a muddy pond all those years ago. Desperately trying to clean himself of the dried white substance, grime, grease and sweat that seemed to cling to him always. His eyes, dead. His body, destroyed. His soul, his purity, shredded to ribbons. Worthless.

There was no argument. Hiccup’s own responses turned to dust on his tongue.

He was right. _He was right._ What was Hiccup thinking? Why would someone as pure and wonderful as Jack deserve to be saddled with someone as useless and wretched as him?

Hiccup raised his head, looking at Alvin with blank, unseeing eyes. “Alright,” he whispered. “I’ll go with you. Just _let Jack go.”_

Alvin purred in victory as he released Jack, words of how he was making the right choice being drowned out by the white noise in Hiccup’s head. The twelve-year-old stared at Hiccup, unspeaking. Why wasn’t he speaking? Did he not feel the same urge to protect his Sel’a? Of course he didn’t. He was a Southerner. He could be happy without-

 _PAIN._ Like a bolt of lightning, pain lanced through Hiccup’s body, the chains tightening furiously on his wrists and ankles as he tried to move to where Alvin was waiting. The world around him seemed to waver – the trees around them, the campsite, even Jack and Alvin – the whole scene seemed to shimmer like a mirage. The chains faded in colour, the bronze turning into a bright silver, like woven moonlight. The white noise intensified, then thinned into a low murmuring. The murmuring then grew also, into a steady growling stream of words that Hiccup couldn’t quite understand. He frowned, staring at Alvin, whose voice echoed strangely as he called for Hiccup to hurry up.

Was that Alvin? Hiccup couldn’t even make out the man’s face anymore. It was as if he was hearing Alvin from underwater. And the humming voice just got louder and louder…

He tried to step forward again, intent on saving Jack. The chains tightened again, preventing another step as finally the words in his head became clear:

“ _IF YOU TAKE ANOTHER STEP YOU WILL DIE, YOU IDIOT!!”_

Hiccup jolted back a step, alarmed. “Jack?!” he called, confused.

But it was gone. It was all _gone._ The forest path, the camp, Alvin, little Jack, the chains – all of it. Including the furious buzzing in his head.

But now he understood what the voice meant. What the clever illusion had been hiding;

Hiccup was merely two steps from the edge of a rocky outcrop. Where Alvin had been standing, there was now a dark creature draped in soot-covered clothes, its features hidden under a gauzy hood. Through the mesh, you could just make out its eyes, glowing like the molten lava that surrounded it.

The creature stood on an isolated island, surrounded by a lake of molten rock that glowed a wicked, cherry red. The lava lapped at the outcrop Hiccup stood upon, not three paces away. The heat sizzled and crack at the earth like a lingering threat. Lava poured down the walls of the cavern – the ceiling so high above, Hiccup could not see it for all the smoke and gas that floated above them. It was like standing in a cathedral of _Helschure_. And before Hiccup stood the High Priest himself.

A very clever trap. How had the creature made it seem so cold, despite the unbearable heat that Hiccup was now swamped with - _been_ swamped with, this whole time? Even the smell of pine needles and wood smoke had masked the scent of brimstone and sulphur, which now once again was cloying the air.

The heat lapped at his skin, his own face lit by the ember glow of the lava that pooled between the two of them. Hiccup clenched his fist, a small, relieved smile on his face when he realised he was holding Endeavour again. The sword – brightly polished Moon Silver – glowed in the caverns depths. He raised his head, speaking to the creature directly.

“That was quite a trick.”

The creature hissed furiously. “ _You cheated. You are not worthy of Hermis’ Task. You gave into your fearsss…”_

Hiccup shook his head slowly, a smile on his lips. “Not fear. I was afraid, it is true. But I would happily give myself up if it is to spare Jack any pain.” Determination filled every contour of Hiccup’s face, every bit the Mûnthan royal he was meant to be. “I act in love, not fear.”

The creature snarled, hissing and spitting as it paced up and down the shore of its island like a caged dragon. “ _Your Sel’a is powerful, to have traversed the Phoenixes’ Realm and helped you,”_ it sneered, pausing it’s pacing as it taunted, _“Despite his own condition…”_

Hiccup glared at the creature. “What do you- No. You know what? I’ve had enough of your mind games. You are the Rapturer, are you not?”

Smoke plumed from beneath its hood as it replied “ _I don’t see any other prisoners of the volcano’s core here, do you?”_

Hiccup smirked. “Being a poor loser doesn’t become you. You have the Fire Stones?”

The creature snapped it teeth together irritably, _“I do. But I won’t give it to some undeserving brat like you – you cheated! It was your Sel’a that broke my spell – not your courage!”_

“Courage!” Hiccup glowered, seething. “You want courage? Tell me – what did you see in that illusion?!”

“ _You gave up!”_ the Rapturer shrieked incredulously. _“You gave into fear!”_

“I WAS WILLING TO GO BACK TO ALVIN TO SAVE JACK.” Hiccup bellowed across the lava-filled cavern. The Rapturer stared at him, startled somewhat. Hiccup just kept glaring at the creature, his eyes alone speaking of the torments he’d go through for the sake of his kindred. The creature gulped, before slowly conceding.

 _“I misjudged the strength of Man again…”_ he spoke with a chuckle. _“You’ve done well, standing against me – knowing I could expose each and every one of your fears, and use them against you.”_

Hiccup didn’t look away, unflinching. “Go ahead. Try it. Fear is your weapon – but duty and love are mine.” He smiled, eyes glinting. “Let’ see who walks away intact.”

Lava bubbled at Hiccup’s feet, the silence that followed his words broken only by the gasp and hiss of vaporous fumes, bubbling globosely to the lake’s surface. Eventually, the Rapturer tsked in annoyance, it’s black, spindly finger fluttering over the gauze of its clothes as it hissed   “ _Valour is standing up for what is right, not necessarily what is easy…”_ his eyes met Hiccup’s, the red embers now a dark gold. “ _You would defend what matters most to you, to the death. You have proved worthy, Hekairen d’Relva Berk-Munthos. Now go.”_

Hiccup raised his eyebrow at the veiled creature. “The Fire Stone?”

“ _Look in your hand.”_

Hiccup’s eyes dropped, and his mouth fell agape. He’d never even drawn his sword – it was still tucked in its sheath at his hip. Instead, what he had held – clutched his in hand the entire time – was a small orb, like amber in colour, only at its centre seemed to be a flickering flame.

Hiccup’s eyes flicked back up to the Rapturer, narrowing. “You’re telling me I had this the entire time?”

The creature cackled, its voice like crackling firewood as it split into embers. “ _Fear and doubt make fools of us all. Remember that, Hekairen. I did not even call upon your greatest fear in this test.”_

Hiccup’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline. He gave the Rapturer a sceptical look, folding his arms. “Oh really? And what exactly might that be?”

A malicious grin appeared on the Rapturer’s face, like it had been slashed through its smoky veil, revealing teeth that seemed to ooze with blackened blood, trickling over its deformed, grotesque lips. “ _Your Sel’a has such lovely blue eyes now, doesn’t he?”_

Hiccup’s eyes widened, the pit of his stomach suddenly filled with dread, like a thorn of ice had just impaled it. He gasped in a breath, prepared to fight back, but before he could even speak, the Rapturer laughed hollowly, its body slowly rescinding into smoke and ashes.

_“I did not lie, Hekairen d’Relva. You have one hour before the Moon’s Zenith. Better hurry.”_   


-:-

 

 It took Hiccup considerably less time to get out of the Volcano than it had to get in. But, that might have been due to the damn thing deciding _now_ would be the perfect time to _blow up._

He barely had time to catch his breath. All those words the Rapturer had said, both as Alvin and his own form, had sent him reeling. His thought were a thundering cacophony in his head as he left the towering room of molten rock, spinning with the numerous insecurities he had hidden even from himself. A part of him wanted to slump against the nearest wall and _cry_.

But mere moments after leaving that huge, fiery audience chamber, the ground beneath Hiccup’s feet had started to tremble, as if furious it had been tricked out of yet another precious Fire Stone. One glance over his shoulder told Hiccup all he needed to know; Yes – the lava was rising. _Fast._

It was at that point he started running.

It was only when he was frantically trying to retrace his steps that Hiccup realised exactly how much he’d relied on that vision of young Jack. The inside of the volcano was a maze, and without the Rapturer’s power of illusion to guide him, Hiccup was tripping over himself trying to navigate his way out – with only the light of the Fire Stone to guide him - without hitting too many dead ends. A dead end meant going back on himself, which meant sacrificing precious time.

On one such occasion, Hiccup had cursed furiously, barely stopping himself before he toppled face-first into the pooling lava that had quickly gained on him. He pocketed the Fire Stone and took a running jump, leaping over the steady stream and rolling with the impact, so as not to splinter his own shins in landing.

“Toothless!” Hiccup yelled, his voice bouncing off the cave walls, “If you can hear me, Bud, I need a little help here!”

In the distance, Hiccup could hear a faint roar echo back down the tunnel. With a bright grin, Hiccup barrelled onward, following the sound of his dragon’s cries. He squeezed through the tiny gaps he’d stuggled with before, his clothes and skin grazing and ripping against sharp rock without much thought or care.

Still the lava hounded him, the heat of it licking at his heels as he ran, its pursuit unrelenting. Hiccup barely had time to react as, suddenly, the earth under his feet began to give away. He yelped, the ground crumbling beneath him. As he began to fall, both hands lashed out to grab a hold of anything that could save him.

His fingers found purchase in the gritty, volcanic soil he’d fallen from, leaving him dangling by his fingertips unto the fiery chasm below. He was given a tiny respite as the lava behind him poured into the now open crevice. He hissed as the raw heat in the air burned his fingers, but clung to the ledge never-the-less. Only now Hiccup was faced with a new problem – the lava below him was rising, like a cup being filled to the brim. And the rock beneath his fingertips was still so unstable, he wasn’t sure it would hold should he even attempt to move. The strain of holding himself aloft pulled on his muscles, making his arms ache and his lungs heave with effort. The cloak around his neck pulled heavily, choking him. Which frantic fingers, he swiftly wrenched his hand from the precipice it clung to and undid the silver fastenings.

The cloak fell heavily, its furs burning up as it neared the lava’s surface, only to be swallowed up by the rising inferno. Hiccup, both hands gripping the ledge once again, watched it burn grimly. His arms were starting to shake with effort.

It was a wretched scenario. Hiccup grimaced as he heaved himself upward, the entire act of doing so balancing tenuously on his own fatiguing strength and the unsteady rock beneath him. He gasped in a breath as the earth shuddered beneath his weight, slowly giving away.

In a flurry of action, Hiccup scrabbled up onto the ledge, barely missing the rising lava by an inch. He didn’t look. There wasn’t any time for that now. The volcano shuddered again, the tremors making Hiccup slam bodily into the tunnel’s wall, fighting for balance.  
He winced at the sight of his own scraped, burnt palm as he pulled it away from the tunnel’s surface. It didn’t matter – he couldn’t stop. Not when the exit – that small crack he’d squeezed through at the start of this whole mess – was finally in sight.

Hiccup cried out as he tore through the crack, colliding into his frantic looking dragon. Hiccup panted, gulping at the sweet, clean, open air that was now afforded him. Toothless busied himself sniffing at his rider, growling when he noticed Hiccup’s injured hand.  
The dragon started to lick at the wound, but Hiccup shook him off, shaking his head frantically.

“No time, Bud. You can look after me later – we have to get out of here.”

He slung himself onto Toothless’ back and settled into the saddle – the action as natural as breathing. Toothless hummed underneath him, and Hiccup sighed. The dragon was not pleased; not only had Hiccup left him whilst going off to face some unknown peril, but he’d got himself hurt and wouldn’t even let Toothless tend to him. He patted Toothless’ neck reassuringly as they soared upward into the air. “I’m alright, Bud. We just need to get back to Berk – fast. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Toothless snorted, rolling his eyes. That made two of them.

  
-:-

 

“ _Where **is** he?” _Astrid growled under her breath, her eyes pinned on the Moon that shone like a beacon through the skylight above them. Moonlight beamed down balefully from above, making light - and truth - of the scene below.

The temple’s main chamber had been transformed to something akin to a Mûnthic funeral – Heather had meekly gone around every surface, placing and lighting long, thin candles that cast eerie shadows on the walls. The flickering light and the pale silvery moonlight made for a sobering scene. Especially given the circumstances.

As time wore on, Astrid had become more and more agitated, and Heather more and more gaunt. Mere hours had passed, and yet the girl looked like a shadow of herself as she silently fussed about the room. She’d kept herself busy these last few hours – piling the blankets they’d collected the past few days onto the altar, along with some of their precious white furs.

It was too quiet in the temple. Over the last couple of weeks, both girls had become accustomed to the bright laughter and witty comments that seemed to follow the Carusellen Prince wherever he went. Now that brightness was gone. It was dying. Just like the figure on the altar was.

Jack lay peacefully – if unnaturally still – amongst the carefully arranged furs and blankets. Heather trembled where she stood, quietly stroking his brow. His skin was icy to the touch.

Astrid bit her lip as she watched her Sel’a. She walked over, gently prying Heather’s hand from where it stayed on Jack’s forehead, and kissing the tender skin on her inner wrist.

Heather shuddered. “ _It is nearly midnight. Astrid – what if Hiccup does not make it?”_

Astrid couldn’t reply. They both knew the answer. The very thought made Astrid’s chest clench. _“It is not fair,”_ she whispered angrily. “ _They have only just found each other, and the Chief deems it right and just to invoke the rites? Knowing this would be a possible outcome?”_ she gestured furiously to Jack’s unmoving body.

Heather shook her head slowly. _“You cannot blame the Chief for this, Astrid. This is our custom,”_ her words were hollow as she said them, like she was reciting the words from a book.

Astrid grit her teeth. “ _These customs are wrong.”_ She looked Heather in the eye, and saw worry and fear that mirrored her own being reflected back at her. _“Everything about this is wrong.”_

Heather nodded sadly, turning back to look at the peaceful figure of Jack on the altar. He was haloed in moonlight, his lips barely parted as scarce breath moved past them, his chest barely rising and falling. In his hands, Astrid had placed his spyglass, hoping the talisman would bring some strength to Jack – wherever his consciousness may be.

The girls were pulled from their reveries at the sound of pounding feet at the temple entrance. Both spun on the spot, and they felt the tension in their bodies melt away with relief.

Hiccup, followed by his parents and Gobber, ran into the temple. Hiccup didn’t even spare a glance at the two girls, his eyes were now locked entirely on Jack’s still form.

At first, Hiccup couldn’t stop smiling. He’d made it! He’d completed the first Task! Then, just as he was about to call out to Jack, two things registered; Jack was on the Moon Temple altar, bathed in moonlight like the Goddess Dragon Herself.

And he didn’t look like he was breathing.

The Fire Stone, which Hiccup had held tightly in his fist, now slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor. His feet pounded across the floor as he fell to his knees next to the altar.  
“Jack? Jack, wake up. Jack!” his voice began to waver as something dark seemed to stick in his throat – a lump of congealed fear and horror, making it hard to speak.  
Fares no. Not after all that the Rapturer had put him through. Not this. _Don’t take Jack away from me! “_ **Jack! For Fares’ sake, wake up!”**

Hiccup looked around wildly, the sheer panic only building at the sight of the ritual candles burning low, like a funeral parlour. Jack’s touch – no longer that soothing cold like fresh water, but cold like unforgiving ice – made Hiccup want to cry out and cling to him, to try and bring some of that warmth back. He shook Jack’s shoulders, desperate as new tears began to spring to his eyes. “Wake up, damn it! Don’t leave me now!”

“ _Hiccup.”_ A gentle hand came to rest upon his shoulder. Hiccup spun around, his face pale and eyes wide as the moon. Astrid pulled her hand back, as if stung.

His eyes darkened when they met Astrid’s. His fists curled as they began to shake with fury. _“You knew.”_

Astrid nodded silently, her lips pressed to a grim line. _“I am so sorry. I had to.”_

 _“I knew something was wrong.”_ Hiccup hissed, getting to his feet and facing Astrid head on, hand starting for his sword, _“Why? Why would you do this?!”_

Valka stepped forward, placing a placating hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. _“She had no choice, love. These are the terms of the second Task.”_

Hiccup stared up at her incredulously. “ _What?”_

Stoick cleared his throat, stepping forward. He cast a quick, mournful look at Jack, before facing Hiccup and reciting lowly, “ _When the warrior returned, the task of Charis had already been laid; Charis – the Steady One – had stolen away the warrior’s lover, leaving naught but their weakening shell. A limit was set; the poison in that lover’s system would kill them within the hour, if the warrior did not work swiftly.”_ Stoick put a firm hand on Hiccup’s shoulder, his eyes seeming to almost burn as he said _“Hekairen, this is a Task of Wisdom – of making the right decision in times of peril. You can do this.”_

Hiccup blinked at his father, unsure of what he had just heard. Stoick nodded his head encouragingly, placing a worn scroll in Hiccup’s unwounded hand. Hiccup took a deep breath through his nose, nodding at his father once.

His father had faith in him. He could do this. _He could do this._

His eyes fell on Jack again, and carefully Hiccup stroked a hand across Jack’s face. There was no room for doubt now - he _had_ to do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …I take it now would be a bad time to say I’m taking a break? Oh well.  
> I’m going to take a breather. I’m a bit poorly, as some of you may have noticed, and I’d like to get to a point where I enjoy writing again.  
> Joys of depression - saps the fun out of everything.  
> I AM NOT ABANDONING MOTN. NOT ON YOUR LIFE. I am, however, going on a little holiday. I’ll keep you posted on when this little hiatus is over. :)


	14. The Affliction of Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... *waves* Hi?
> 
> It's been I while, I know. But I have been utterly blown over by the support this story has. I am so sorry it's taken me so long to get back into writing, but give me a couple of chapters, and I'll be back on track.  
> As to the blazing question: No, I am not better. Positives? I have been properly diagnosed now, and I'm getting the treatment I need. Hopefully it's not going to be a lifelong problem. In the words of my consultant: "You could be completely cured in ten years time!"  
> ... cheery thought. Thanks Doc.
> 
> Anyway - this hasn't been Beta'd, but thats because I've been AWOL for so long, I'm not sure Swifty even wants to beta anymore. (Can I catch you on skype? Or email me...?)
> 
> But now - the long awaited chapter 14. Enjoy.

_Chapter XIV_

**_ The Affliction of Wisdom _ **

 

_A fool is not a foolish man,_  
but tis he that strikes with no forethought or plan.  
In this task, you indeed must make haste,  
but heed these words, lest all lay to waste.

_An hour’s nigh is all ‘twill take_  
for Charis’ prisoner to finally break.  
The Zenith alone can help you look  
for that which retrieves the one poison took.

_First, seek out under the sixth starry sign_  
that which under sunlight seems dull and benign.  
From it weeps truly a terrible tear,  
that heals all when heated by embers of fear.

_Second, the wicked web weaved ‘round their heart,_  
must be banished, lest under swathes they’ll depart.  
Crush the blued beast of which this trap made –  
Only with’t may rosy hues of your love be saved.

_Third, that which hurts may heal -_  
in the heart of the herb may poison conceal,  
but conquer this foes with its own hardened shell;  
the fruits of the tree will its poisons dispel.

_Fourth and last, I say only this:_  
To drink is to kill, to save is to kiss.  
This method alone will still the souls traverse.  
Heed me, else fall to the Black Plague’s Curse.

 

-:-

_ Six hours earlier… _

 

“ _You want me to do **what?”**_

Heather winced as Jack took a step back from her, the sound of utter betrayal in his voice wounding her. _“It is tradition, Jack,”_ she replied sadly.

_“That is not an excuse! I need to be there for Hiccup! There is no way I can- why would you even ask me to- this is **insane!”**_ He pointed at the altar viciously, “ _You want me to **drink** that of my own free will?!”_

Astrid raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. _“You do not trust Hiccup?”_

Jack blanched at her words, but didn’t reply. She narrowed her eyes at him. _“It sounds like you do not believe he can beat these Tasks.”_

_“I never said that I doubt him. He will pass the Rites just fine.”_

_“But you do not trust him.”_

_“I-”_ Jack bit his lip furiously, stopping himself from blurting out every insecurity he had inside of him. _“I am his Sel’a. I am supposed to believe in him.”_

_“But you do not.”_

_“I do!”_

_“Prove it,”_ and with that, she shoved the strange smelling vial from the altar right under his nose. Jack felt queasy just looking at it. He could feel the heavy weight of Astrid’s scrutiny upon him, but he couldn’t bring himself to down the vial. Finally, he looked back at Heather, who seemed to have become very pale. _“How does this work?”_

She exhaled slowly, a watery smile on her face as she explained “ _It is an infusion of Hemleaf and Nightlock. It puts the drinker into a death-like state of sleep, to only be awakened by the correct antidote_.”

Astrid stepped forward at this. “ _The Tasks are a means of accumulating the correct ingredients for the antidote.”_ Jack glared at, utterly unconvinced. She bit her lip, _“Even if Hiccup fails, we still have some emergency antidote to wake you. But it is crucial that you are under the poison’s influence, Jack.”_

_“Why?”_ Jack hissed, _“Why is it so important?”_

_“The fifth Task.”_ Heather replied quietly, staring at her hands clasped in front of her. _“You will need to be Hiccup’s guide during the final Task. The closer you are to death, the longer you have had to acclimatise yourself… the easier it will be.”_

Jack gave her a hard stare. _“And what exactly **is** the fifth Task?”_

Astrid plonked the vial into his hand. _“Drink up. Then you can ask the Great Moon Dragon yourself.”_

Jack gave her a bewildered look, panic building in his chest. He glanced back down to the foreboding vial, the black, congealed sludge inside it vaguely reminiscent of coagulated blood. His stomach heaved. He looked back at Astrid, who merely raised her eyebrow again in challenge. Then, a look at Heather, who gave him another encouraging smile. With a sigh, he uncorked the vial’s stopper. The thick mixture smelled like rotten seaweed and copper coins, and it made Jack want to retch. Instead, turning his face away from the potent smell, he sucked in a breath of fresh air before wrenching himself back and downing the entire vial in one gulp.

_“There,”_ he gasped. _“I did it. I di-”_

Jack didn’t get chance to finish his sentence. A dull, thudding sensation filled his head, like being beaten repeatedly by a mallet. His eyes rolled back in his head, and everything seemed to dissolve around him; colour, texture, scent and taste – everything bubbled away like a boiling pot, and something was pulling at him from all sides. Was he going up or down? Was it getting darker or lighter? Was he spinning? Or was the world spinning? He tried to gulp for air, but found he could not breathe. Panic filled his chest, and suddenly it felt like he was swimming through an ocean of the vial’s contents, the sticky, tar-like substance pulling at his limbs as he tried to claw his way to the surface. It was lighter at the surface – Jack could see light. He kept going, kicking madly in his plight. Almost there. So close…

  
Jack gasped, his eyes flying open before suddenly slipping closed again. Astrid and Heather knelt beside him where he lay. The spasms had stopped now – the Carusellen Prince could be asleep, he looked so peaceful. Heather stroked his snow white hair sadly, watching as his chest seemed to falter more and more, until it looked utterly still. The pulse at his neck was so weak, it was barely there.

Astrid nodded slowly. “ _It is done_.”

_“We should have told him,”_ Heather whispered brokenly.

_“If we had, he would never have drunk the poison.”_

_“The second Task…”_

_“It depends on Hiccup now. The effects will not start to truly kick in until Gemini is at its summit. That gives Hiccup until midnight to finish the first Task, and get back here in time to complete the second.”_

_“But what if he does not make it?”_

Astrid stared at her Sel’a, before looking back at Jack’s limp body, his head cradled on Heather’s lap. _“Then we have lost a good friend. And we have doomed another to the Black Plague.”_  
  


-:-

  
Hiccup blamed himself. Sure, Astrid had handed Jack the bottle, and Heather had prepared the poison. And yes, Stoick had initiated the Rites, and heck – even the reason for Jack being in the Archipelago Mountains was beyond Hiccup’s control.

But that didn’t stop Hiccup feeling in the pit of his stomach a thick, cold, churning guilt. That Jack – had they never met – wouldn’t be lying on that altar. The very same altar that Hiccup himself had bled out on not six years ago. The very thought made Hiccup feel sick.

The room felt hollow and cold now. Everyone had left Hiccup to his own, leaving only a large Timeglass in their wake. The sand fell continuously, an ominous herald of impending doom. Hiccup did his best to ignore it. Looking at it just made him feel even more ill.

Instead, he started bustling about the temple room, the scroll left on a simple workbench that Astrid must have dragged in from the apothecary. Upon it, a number of tools had been painstakingly prepared; pestle and mortar, crystal vials in a neat line, a crude, iron-wrought clamp and stand, but no ingredients. The most aggravating thing for Hiccup was that the lack of herbs meant he had to fetch them himself. Did he even have time for that?

The pressures of this task were mounting up, slowly but surely, and it wasn’t helping that Jack’s frail form lay mere feet away from Hiccup; a constant and bleak reminder of what Hiccup had at stake. Hiccup placed a shaky hand upon Jack’s forehead. He was colder than usual – a bitter, frosty temperature, compared to the usual gentle cool of Jack’s hands, like a fresh spring. Hiccup pursed his lips into a thin line. At least it wasn’t Vorpent Venom. If it had been, Jack’s pulse would have been racing, his body flushed with burning fever. Jack would be writhing upon the altar, gasping in short breaths as the venom choked him from the inside.

Hiccup was familiar enough with Vorpent Venom. It had been pure luck that the antidote - an ancient root vegetable from the Old World - had been on hand. Otherwise, Hiccup would not have even made it to the age of eleven.

Jack was cold. His pulse was weak, and his eyes – when Hiccup gently pried one open – refused to dilate. This was a herbal poison. It would not be remedied by potato starch alone. Hiccup bit his lip – a habit he berated Jack for constantly, and the irony was not lost on him – as grim determination settled in his stomach like a lump of lead.

He once again picked up the scroll, and his eyes – weary, bloodshot, watery eyes – finally came to rest on the first clue: … _that which under sunlight is dull and benign. From it weeps a terrible tear…_

Estoralia. It had to be. Hiccup prided himself on his general knowledge – since a very tender age he’d soaked up all he could like a cerebral sponge, and his intelligence had even led him to unravel riddles and find treasures that even his father could not.

There was no doubt in his mind that it was Estoralia the riddle was indicating. The herb could easily be mistaken for a bushel of dried thorns in daylight, but under the stars, the thin, twig like branches would glow; thousands of tiny veins gleaming a gentle, silvery colour. But that wasn’t all.

Estoralia was poisonous, especially the root. When unearthed, the long, bulbous roots would gleam with a strange, clear slick. Hiccup frowned as his studied the text, before glancing back at the tools laid out for him on the desk. _Heated by embers of fear…_ Apparently, heating the mucus of the root would help make the antidote. But Estoralia was renowned for bursting into flame if it got too close to an open fire, mostly because of the high amounts of sugar in the syrupy substance.

Hiccup stared at the sentence, rolling it around in his head, furiously trying to ignore the niggling voices that kept reminding him that _Jack is in trouble. Jack might be in pain. Jack is practically lying lifeless behind you – HELP HIM HELP HIM HELP HIM YOU USELESS-_

His eyes snapped to the next stanza, cutting off the vicious thought. Self loathing wasn’t going to help Jack at all in the long run. He’d done enough of that at Mount Lavlo.

_‘…the wicked web weaved… crush the blued beast of which this trap made…’_ Again, obvious. Hiccup would have rolled his eyes if not for the severity of the situation.

Blue was a sacred colour to Mûnthans. They had been stoic followers of the Blue Phoenix right up until their god had swallowed the Black Plague whole, in a bid to save everyone. The phoenix had then gone mad, dying slowly. Fares’ own pride and self-assurance had been his undoing. Regardless, the Mûnthans had avenged their god, and still held him on high. Blue was the colour of strength. Blue was the colour of power.

In contrast, white – the traditional colour of the Moon Dragon – was the colour companionship, undying love and loyalty. The colour of purity and devotion.

Blue and white. How fitting that Jack, clearly a loving, strong, beautiful soul, now wore these colours permanently. But Jack’s eyes… Jack’s power… Hiccup would lie to himself no longer. From the moment he’d seen Jack’s new powers for himself, that night they escaped from the Besikians, he’d been afraid. Not of Jack himself. Never Jack.

But that power? The fact that Jack lost control of it, and nearly plummeted to his death as consequence? That was dangerous. That alone nearly stole Jack from Hiccup, mere moments after they’d finally been reunited.

That was Hiccup’s greatest fear. And Fares, he could also loath himself for this, but he truly hated the colour of Jack’s eyes.

Blue.

Like a power-mad Phoenix whose very sensibilities had been stolen away by the Black Plague.

Blue…

Like the Azuran Spyder. Focus focus _focus._ The spider, crushed. That was what the mortar was for. That was the second ingredient. And again, the Azuran Spyder was known for its itchy, venomous bite, but Hiccup also knew for a fact that Heather used crushed Azuran Spyder as a key ingredient for her anti-septic salves. The venom would sting upon contact, but it would immediately negate any impurities or toxins that were already in the system.

Hiccup nodded to himself, adding it to his mental checklist and pushing aside those speculative thoughts from before. Now was not the time. Ignore those fears, the memories that had been ripped out and displayed for all to see by the Rapturer. Ignore the growing sense of hate and self loathing, because _Jack wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for you. Your fault, your fault, YOUR FAUL-_

IGNORE. IT.

Hiccup took a long, deep breath through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and slowly unclenching the other. He could feel the vague throb from his furled fist, and grimaced when he realised it was his injured hand, already split with oozing blisters and angry looking burns, the wounds packed in with volcanic grit. He needed to clean it. Even so, it may well scar.

He snorted derisively at the sorry sight of his hand, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the scroll.

_"...the heart of the herb may poison conceal... but conquer this foes with its own hardened shell; the fruits of the tree will its poisons dispel..."_

Hiccup frowned. The content was simple enough; much like Estoralia, whatever herb the riddle was referring to was the cure to its own curse. 'The fruits of the tree will its poison dispel' - it made sense. The leaves were likely poisonous, whilst the fruit was the cure.

But... it also made no sense. Naturally, fruits like berries would be brightly coloured and easy to spot. They would need the best natural defences. Usually, the fruit of a plant would be the _cause_ of the poison - not the cure.

Hiccup was well and truly puzzled. His confusion only made him angrier with himself, because precious time was slipping away before his eyes and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

There was another part of him that said the 'heart' bit of the riddle was important. It niggled at him, teasing him with that crucial information that was just beyond his reach. But _what was it?_ Hiccup growled angrily at the scroll, glancing back at the hourglass. Ten minutes gone. He knew two ingredients - he couldn't waste any more time. Not with Jack like that. Not with every passing second, Hiccup could almost see the life draining from his Sel'a, could see the distance between them getting greater and greater...

Hiccup stuffed the scroll into his belt, hissing slightly when his injured hand brushed the coarse leather. No time to give a damn about that.

He made his way out to the temple's entrance, where waited a nervous Astrid and Heather, a solemn looking Stoick, and - finally - the one being Hiccup knew he could rely on to get the task done with him.

" _Come on, Bud_." he muttered as he mounted Toothless' saddle. " _We have work to do."_

He paid no heed to the guilt on Astrid's face, or the way Heather periodically wiped tears from her eyes. He could care less for the worry on his father's face, or the knowing look that passed between Stoick and Valka. They knew the consequence of not passing this test. Knew what the outcome of this task would be if he failed.

But he couldn't fail. He couldn't. Because there was more powers at work than just fate and destiny. More rode on this than Hekairen could ever understand. But now was not the time.  
Hiccup had enough to worry about.

  
-:-  


" _Steady, Toothless, steady..."_ Hiccup grit his teeth through the wind. As if the task itself wasn't enough, now Hiccup had to contend with the elements - more specifically the _hurricane gale force_ \- that seemed hell-bent on keeping Hiccup from his prize.

Estoralia grew only in the highest most points of the Archipelago, where the air was thin, and the wind blew rampant like wild stallions, cold and unforgiving. Dust blew up from the dry mountain surface - a place so rarely visited by cloud, beaten and chilled by the wicked wind - straight into Hiccup's face, making his eyes sting. After a further ten minutes of searching, he finally spotted the tell-tale glimmer of the luminous plant… and groaned.

“ _You have got to be kidding me.”_

It was growing out from a rocky outcrop, the thin branches rattling in the wind. The ledge above it made it impossible for Toothless to get any closer, what with his large wingspan. Hiccup glared up at the Estoralia balefully. “ _We need to rethink this…”_ he muttered, looking around the summit for anything he could use to try and latch onto the plant and yank it out from a distance. No such luck.

Hiccup growled through gritted teeth. _“Come on! I do not have time for this!”_

_“Hiccup!”_

He glanced down towards the wind-battered ridge beneath him, only to see not only his cousin Snotlout, but Fishlegs too, waiting for him with both their dragons in tow.

He glowered at them, eyes narrowed. _“What are you two doing here?”_ he called over the howling winds.

It was Snotlout that replied “ _We are here to help! Astrid said you were out here struggling, and you have only got about forty minutes left.”_

Hiccup bit his lip, shaking his head against the thrashing winds. _“I do not think Charis would like me taking help in her task, guys. I have to do this alone!”_

Fishlegs stepped forward, glowering at Hiccup. _“You cannot do this alone! You will never reach the Estoralia in time on Toothless. His wingspan is too wide, and he is already struggling to stay steady in these winds!”_

_“It is **my** task!”_

Snotlout growled furiously. _“For Fares’ sake, Hiccup! Take the damned help! If you fail this task- if that Carusellen kid does not wake up- what will it do to you?!”_ Snotlout’s fingers curled into his riding gear, his knuckles turning white. _“You will go back to being that shell again! That empty, cold person that would not let anyone near him. We all nearly lost you to the Black Plague once – let us help you, because we cannot live with that happening again!”_

Hiccup blinked at his cousin, the winding flicking his hair into his eyes as he did so.  
  
This was the boy that used to torment Hiccup relentlessly. Endlessly teasing, with snide comments about his weak form and hare-brained inventions, the continuous probing and prodding, saying he was a sham of a prince, and that he would never be the chief of Berk Mountain.

It had all changed when Hiccup returned from Caruselle. His antagonists – mainly Snotlout and Tuffnut – had distanced themselves. Or maybe he was already too distant for them to reach? He hadn’t really paid them much mind. He was too preoccupied with other problems at the time.

-Nursing his wounds from the binding ritual… Moon Mourning without Jack at his side… Memories… Trapped in a dark box with no room to breathe… feverish, unwanted touches all over his trembling body… _blood so much blood-_

Yes. He’d been preoccupied.

No wonder Snotlout had left him alone.

Little had Hiccup realised how acutely his distance had effected everyone else. Snotlout’s eyes were pinned on him, his face pinched but determined.

_“I heard laughter, Hiccup. This morning, coming from the Moon Temple. **Your genuine** laughter – something I haven’t heard in years. Because of that guy.” _ Snotlout growled, biting his lip against the savage winds. _“You can’t lose him again. Not now. Let us help you... I want my cousin back!”_

Hiccup had never heard anything like it from Snotlout. It was completely out of character for him, usually so brutish and stand-offish, self-assured and boastful. Now he stood, fists clenched, glaring impassionedly at Hiccup, as if daring him to refuse.

“ _Alright,”_ Hiccup relented softly, dipping Toothless down to meet them at the cliff’s outcrop. He slipped off his dragon’s back, meeting his stocky cousin’s gaze. _“What would you suggest then?”_

-:-

 

Wherever he was, it was very bright.

He peeled himself from the soft earth beneath him, groaning as he did. He felt really stiff, his vertebrae clicking as he stretched, trying to get some feeling back into his pins-and-needles body. With a great effort, he rolled over and got to his feet, blinking against the garish light that assaulted his senses.

“What in the name of the Moon Dragon happened?” he mumbled, shaking out his strangely weakened arms.

_You reached out to your Sel’a in the physical world, despite my warnings._

He started at that. A gentle, motherly voice that resonated within his mind. He dug a finger into his ear, wondering if he was hearing things. The voice continued.

_And for your information, I do have a name. I just would rather it not used in vain._ The voice said with a curling hint of amusement. He blushed.

“Sorry Ma’am,” he mumbled, biting his lip. There was nothing to see – an endless blinding white in every direction. It was disorientating. “Where are you? I can’t see anything.”

A chuckle. _You aren’t looking hard enough._

He pouted, hands on hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”

_What are you looking for?_

That… was a good question. What was he expecting to see? He didn’t know. So he got this. What was he looking for? He didn’t know. Hence the blank space. What did he _want_ to see right now?

“Hiccup…” he mumbled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The voice took a quick inhale, before softly saying

_Careful, Jack. We don’t always find exactly what we seek._

Jack’s eyes opened, and he fought not to scream.

He recognised the winding trail, slipping like a serpent between the eerie trees of BenHul Forest. This was Elior’s Corridor. But he’d never been to Elior’s corridor, how could he recognise it?   
The answer came to him, unbidden. He’d collapsed, drained of strength, having spent himself restraining his Sel’a, stopping Hiccup from walking into the Rapturer’s trap. He’d seen the horrors Hiccup had been subjected to, watching a younger version of himself being molested by that filthy mongrel. It was strange and sickening to watch. Jack had focused on Hiccup, calling out to him, pulling him away from what Jack alone could see was the lava lake’s precipice.

Watching his younger version had been harrowing, yes. But he hadn’t quite understood Hiccup’s horror at it. Until now.

Before him, at the edge of the corridor’s road, a naked boy knelt beside a muddy puddle, dabbing a ratty cloth into the putrid water and then slowly washing the blood and crusty remnants of his abusers from his skin. The boy was so small; Jack remembered the boy standing in his throne room, in bronze chains. He’d been small then too – but he hadn’t looked half as broken.

Green eyes had dulled from iridescent jade to a slated grey, the light in his eyes seeming to have faded into nothingness. The windows to that boy’s soul were nothing more than lifeless, black pits of darkness, revealing a creature that was cold and dead inside.

The boy rubbed dirty water into his wounds, barely hissing as his hands touched plum-coloured bruises that bloomed across his body. Jack trembled, watching at a distance. He wanted nothing more than to run over and wrap his arms around the broken boy, crying out for the life in his eyes to come back.

There was a gentle touch at his shoulder. Jack spun on heel, ready to fight off whatever horror had snuck up behind him, only to halt mid-movement.   
The figure behind him was not the grotesque slaver from years ago, but an ethereal looking woman. Her hair floated behind her, as if caught in a constant, gentle breeze. Her skin was like ivory, carved around her delicate features and perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Her eyes was enchanting – a shade of blue not of this world. It was a blue that lingered between frosty glaciers and roaring, searing flames.

The woman gave Jack a very weary smile. _I did warn you. But you are just like your mother – curious to a fault, relentless regardless._

Jack blinked up at the woman in awe. “Who are you?”

A kindly smile. _The Mûnthans know me as ‘Granora Sel’, but you may call me Jacquelina._

Jack stared at the woman for a very long time. “Jacquelina? I’ve heard that name before…”

The woman – Jacquelina – gave him a secretive smile. _I know._

Jack narrowed his eyes at her, before shrugging it off with a sigh. “Granora Sel, huh? You’re telling me you are the Moon Dragon herself?”

_Is that so hard to believe, young Prince?_

Jack scratched behind his neck, rolling his eyes. “I have white hair and magic ice powers, shadow creatures are stalking me throughout the Greater Isles, and I just exhausted myself trying to stop Hiccup from diving into a lake of lava. At this point, I think I could believe anything.”

Jacquelina nodded her head. _I caution you not to believe everything you are told, little dragon._

Jack stared at her. “Little dragon?”

She nodded solemnly. _Something is coming. The stones are re-awakening, and it has always been the duty of the Moon Dragon to protect the Chamber of Silence. I can no longer protect that chamber, Jack. A new Moon Dragon must awaken._

Jack felt his entire body go numb. His jaw dropped as he openly gaped at her, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. Jacquelina watched him speculatively. Jack was almost waiting for her to laugh at him, to point and screech “Haha! Tricked you!”   
Because what she was saying…what she was implying… it was insane!

“A-and you want me to be this _new Moon Dragon?!_ I’m sorry lady, but you are chasing the wrong rabbit here. Why me? Don’t you think I have enough on my plate already?!”

The woman shook her head with a sad smile, her hair lapping over her shoulders like liquid as she did so. _Jack, my dear… you know why you have been chosen. Think hard. Remember who you are._

Jack stared at her, incredulous. “I’m Jack. I’m just the Prince of a fallen kingdom, with an idiot for a soulmate - who is likely to get himself killed with his recklessness – and an army of shadows at my heels. Exactly what possessed you to choose _me_?!”

_I didn’t,_ she replied softly as she faded away. _I merely gave you the tools to fulfil your destiny._

_“_ WHAT DESTINY?!” Jack howled as the woman seemed to vanish into thin air, until nothing but the impression of her sad, pitying smile remained.

_Remember who you are, Jack…_

And she was gone. Jack seethed, his eyes fixed on the space where the ethereal woman had been sheer moments before. Stupid girls.

With a roar of pent up fury, Jack collapsed back on the soft ground beneath him, tugging his arm up to cover his eyes. The spongey ground of this spiritual demimonde wrapped around him like a blanket, cradling him in its wispy haze. Jack paid it no mind.

Remember who he was? What was that supposed to mean?!

 

-:-

 

In one corner of the room, Fishlegs and Snotlout carefully drained the Estoralia root, the clear juices filling a glass phial that was held precariously above the firestone Hiccup had collected from Lavlo Mountain. To their left, Astrid was pummelling a small mortar with its own pestle, as if crushing the poor arachnid into the finest powder possible would somehow give her some kind of reprieve from whatever guilt was gnawing her insides. It had been pure luck that – whilst hanging from an impromptu sling that he and Fishlegs had strapped to Meatlug’s belly – Hiccup had reached for the Estoralia plant, only to catch his hand in thick spiderweb. Not moments later, the angry resident of said webbing had appeared, crawling over Hiccup’s gloved hands, searching for somewhere to bite.

It never had the chance.

Now, as Astrid crushed the Azuran Spyder into a pale blue pulp, Hiccup sat next to the temple’s altar, one hand closed around the pale fingers of his Sel’a, the other desperately tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. He was hunched over the altar’s surface, the riddling recipe to Jack’s salvation mere centimetres from Hiccup’s tired, bloodshot eyes.

_Third, that which hurts may heal -_  
in the heart of the herb may poison conceal,  
but conquer this foes with its own hardened shell;  
the fruits of the tree will its poisons dispel.

Hiccup was grasping at straws, but nothing he thought of fit. Every tree he knew that bore fruit was either just commodities – snow apples, gooseberries, blackberries – or poisonous. What did the riddle mean by ‘heart of the herb’? Hardened shell… what the riddle referring to tree bark? Perhaps the fruit he was looking for had a hard shell with healing properties? His fingers tensed into claws, digging into the skin at the nape of his neck. He wasn’t getting anywhere!

Fifteen minutes left.

Hiccup pulled his head from where it hung, poring over the ancient parchment. He gave a despairing whimper as his eyes trailed over Jack’s prone form. The boy seemed to get paler and paler with each passing moment. His skin seemed to have become translucent, and thin as paper. Beneath his skin, you could almost see the poison as it crawled through his system. His veins seemed varicose as they pressed up against the skin’s surface, their colour – once dainty, royal-blood blue – now black like tar.

Hiccup’s eyes roamed from the spiderweb blackness that slowly spread over his love’s cheeks, turning Jack’s lip a blackening blue colour, like a deep and painful bruise. They skimmed down his neck and over his chest, where Jack’s tunic barely rose and fell with his breathing. And there – clasped in his hands - was the spyglass.

Without much thought, Hiccup ran his finger over the silvery metal, feeling the bumps and grooves of the intricate engravings that Hiccup had never thought to add as a fourteen year old. The metal was still a little warm – the only lingering heat left from Jack’s touch. Hiccup’s heart clenched. No. No, he refused to let it be so. He refused to have his last piece of solace, his last shred of hope, be torn away with only an embellished spyglass and a silver compass to remind him of what he lost.

His brow furrowed as his fingernails caught on the engravings, his eyes fixed on the swirling patterns. Peonies and wisteria, interlocking with the northern hemleaf, the characteristic, heart shaped leaves intertwining with-

Hiccup blinked. Once. Twice.

He wrenched away from the altar with a strangled cry, half euphoric, half self-deprecating. The entire room seemed to stop at the sound, each head spinning to see Hiccup, whose eyes seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight.

With startling speed, he made a beeline to Heather, who had been lingering like a shadow at Astrid’s side. Her eyes widened as he approached, but a small smile tugged on her lips at his renewed energy.

“ _Heather,”_ he spoke breathlessly. “ _Please, for Fares sake, tell me you have Hemleaf nuts in your stores?”_

Heather blinked at him, before letting her lips pull into an ear-splitting grin. “ _I knew you would figure it out.”_

 

-:-

 

Five minutes. That was all the time left, as shown by the looming hourglass, where merely a trickle of sand remained in the top sphere, slowly spilling down into the spent minutes below.

Sweat gathered on Hiccup’s brown as he mashed the hemleaf nuts into a greasy pulp, before snatching up the scrap of muslin cloth they were using to filter the precious oils from the nuts remains. His armour lay abandoned a foot away, the leathers too hot.

The knights, plus Heather, watched in silent awe as their leader began to mix the components of the much needed cure. So rarely had they ever seen Hiccup in such a state, where frantic emotion ran through his eyes, gathering in his coiled muscles and hunched back for all to see. Even rarer – his tunic sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows as he worked, his collar gaping open. Hardly anyone had seen the runes. Hiccup had kept them covered like some shameful brand or scar. Sometimes they would catch glimpses – in battle, in training, checking in on him whilst Gothi tended to battle wounds – and therefore they knew of the ugly red the enchanted tattoos used to be.

Now, they flowed blue, curving around his neck and forearms like a blessing from Fares himself. It was enchanting. Awe-inspiring.  
And – much as they’d loath to say it aloud – it was also a little terrifying. What was the meaning behind it? Why hadn’t the spell simply faded? The knight gave each other sideways looks, but none of them made comment.

Hiccup frowned in concentration as he infused the warm, treacle-like substance that was the Estoralia root essence with the hemleaf nut oil. Then he added the crushed spider, one spoonful at a time. The mixture took a faint bluish hue, the smell that wafted from the antidote’s surface something akin to liquorice, only more bitter. The consistency was thick, like a grainy syrup that sucked at Hiccup’s mixing utensil. He grimaced.

_“Is it supposed to look like this, Heather?”_

The high priestess gave the mixture a contemplating look. Her face looked pinched. _“I sorely hope so, Hiccup…”_ she replied.

He gave her a terse nod, picking up the mortar and pouring the blue, sluggish mixture into a crystal phial. Hiccup took a deep, steadying breath as he made his way over to the altar, using one arm to prop up Jack’s limp form and the other to hold the phial aloft and ready.

Fishlegs made a strange, squeak-like sound, then clasped his hands over his mouth in horror. Hiccup’s attention snapped to the scholar, eyes wide with questions. Fishlegs shook his head minutely, his eyes fixed upon the mixture Hiccup was about to pour down the dying prince’s throat. Everything about Fishlegs screamed ‘ _Don’t do it!’_

Hiccup let a small growl slip from between his teeth. “ _What is it, Fishlegs?”_

Fishlegs said nothing, his lips a thin, pursed line. Without a word, he picked up the riddle, and set it in front of his captain. He gestured furiously at the final paragraph, before diving back to where Snotlout, Astrid and Heather stood, watching. Hiccup raised his eyebrow in question, before glancing back down at the riddle.

“ _To drink is to kill, to save is to kiss.”_

Hiccup gave Fishlegs a pointed look and nodded his gratitude. Fishleg’s nodded back solemnly. Drinking the entire antidote would have killed Jack via overdose. There was only one way to administer the medicine.

Hiccup gently placed Jack back on the altar, his eyes flicking over to the hourglass. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart clenched, jarring horribly inside him like it was being squeezed by razor-like threads. _One minute._

The pressure was building, and with it Hiccup seemed to suddenly become all the thumbs and fumbling. His hands shook as he held the bottle, pouring a little of the substance into his outstretched palm. Using his index finger, he dabbed at the mixture and hap-hazardously rubbed the strange syrup onto his own lips. He cringed at the acrid taste – so much more bitter and salty than its scent would suggest.

_20 seconds._

He placed the phial to one side, and fixed his eyes upon Jack’s fading body. Then – the worst thing that could have possibly happened, happened. _Doubt_.

It tore at Hiccup sharply, like a razor that sliced at his chest – cutting through flesh, bone and sinew like butter, only to twist in his heart like a wrenching knife, wielded by a creature of torment. What if he’d miscalculated? What if he was wrong? What if Jack woke up, but never trusted him again? What if Jack never woke up? What if Jack woke up, but didn’t remember Hiccup at all? What if- what if-

_“HICCUP!”_

The Mûnthan prince tore himself from his internal downward spiral, instead fixing his eyes upon Astrid. She wore a familiar face; a face that said she knew what was going through his mind. Her eyes spoke of the thousands of times they’d had the same conversation, over and over like a mantra.

_‘What if it all goes wrong? If I fail? If I really am useless?’_

_‘Hiccup, you know the outcome if you do not try, don’t you?’_

_‘I fail regardless.’_

_‘Exactly. But if you do try?’_

_‘…I could fail. But I could also succeed.’_

_‘See? What have you got to lose?’_

Jack’s face, fading more and more as the seconds flitted by, death sucking him dry of vitality like a sickly parasite. Hiccup looked down upon his Sel’a, resolve returning.

_You know the outcome if you do not try. What have you got to lose?_

Jack. He had Jack to lose. Hiccup’s gaze hardened, turning into glowing, fiery steel much like the swords he’d spend hours forging.

_7 seconds._

He gripped Jack’s cloak as he leant down, nerves clawing at his stomach.

_5_

Inhale. Exhale.

4

Too late to second guess anything now.

3

Hiccup let a tiny broken whimper escaped from him, before pressing down, his lips meeting Jack’s.

2

His lips were cold and dry. The skin on his lower lip was slightly cracked. _From all his chewing it._ Hiccup thought belatedly. His stomach churned as he tried to pry Jack’s lips open with his own, praying some of the mixture coating his lips would find its way to Jack’s system.

1

Hiccup pulled back, gasping.

 

-:-

  
When Valka and Stoick stepped into the temple’s main chamber, they stepped into a freeze-frame. The room was deafeningly silent, the held breath and thudding heartbeats saying more than any cry of anguish ever could. None of the Dragon Knights seemed to notice their chief’s entrance, each pair of eyes fixed upon the centre of the room.

Valka drew a deep breath, preparing for the worst. Then, with a resigned sigh, she turned to look upon her son.

Hiccup was still as the dead, his arms resting upon the altar, with his head buried under them. Next to his arms, the Carusellen Prince remained motionless, his skin now slowly turning grey, the poison seeming to pool into his very pigment.

Very slowly, Valka reached forward, touching Hiccup’s shoulder in comfort. He flinched away with a pained gasp. “ _Do not touch me.”_

“Hiccup…” she spoke soothingly. He paid no mind. His shoulders seemed to tremble where he bowed over the altar surface. Great, staggering, quaking breathes shuddered from his lungs, like his entire being was filled with suffocating cobwebs. She carefully took her son’s face in her hands, cringing only briefly when she felt her fingers slip on the tear-tracks on his cheeks.

Hiccup never cried. Not outside of a full moon.

The few that had seen him during the throes of moon mourning would say her son cried very prettily. His eyes would glow a bright green, made all the more vibrant by the glossy sheen of tears yet unshed. Small drops would fall, silent and unbidden, down his freckled cheeks. Even though he’d be in great pain, Hiccup wouldn’t make a sound.

This time, it was a totally different story. His eyes were swollen and puffy, rimmed red and bloodshot with fatigue, pain and indescribable loss. His nose was bright red from sniffing. As she pulled him from his curled up, fetal position next to his Sel’a deathbed, Valka watched him clutch his chest. It was as if he was fearful a hole had been punched right through it. Where usually you could trace the individual tear-tracks on his sun-kissed cheeks, there was no definition now. These tears were no slow trickle, but a heart-wrenching deluge.

She gathered Hiccup into her arms, hugging him and hushing him, like a child. He hid his sobs in her cloak, stifling his wails of fury and defeat. As his fit subsided, Valka exchanged a look between Stoick and Heather. Both were grim faced as they nodded in unison.

“I failed him, _Sherlen **[1]**,” _ Hiccup whispered, his voice cracking with anguish. _“_ I failed the rites, I failed the tribe, but most of all I **failed him** and now **he’s gone.** ”

Valka took a deep, slow breath. “ _Child, do you feel the emptiness? The void his existence used to fill?_ ”

Hiccup pulled away, only to stare at her. His expression sat somewhere between outrage and confusion. “I know he’s gone! I was too late – see!” He gestured furiously at Jack’s still body. “Jack didn’t wake! He will never wake! I **failed!”**

 “ _Hekairen.”_ In a manner that only a mother could truly achieve, Valka silenced her son with one word, her eyes severe as she stopped him on his downward spiral. “Stop this now. Look inside you – is he gone? Search out the bond between you, follow it as far as it allow.”

Hiccup stared at his mother again, but this time only bewilderment was written on his face.

Valka watched as Hiccup slowly closed his eyes, focused on breathing deeply – in and out – slowly bringing his heart to a regular rhythm. His face contorted a little with concentration, the muscles around his eyes and lips crinkling with effort.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again. The emotions she saw streaking through his eyes were as clear as crystal; flashes of disbelief, confusion, realisation, _elation…_ and finally, _relief._

“He’s alive.” Hiccup breathed, his eyes falling once again on Jack. Now he looked closer, with clear eyes no longer blurred by blind grief, he could see the faint rise and fall of Jack’s ribcage. Hiccup pressed his lips together as he mopped his face with his tunic sleeve. “My Jack is alive.”

“ _Men es lib’a.”_ Valka confirmed, nodding her head with a warm smile.

A short laugh, like a bark, flew from Hiccup’s lips as he sank back down to his knees, back to Jack’s side. He tenderly ran his fingers through the Carusellen’s snowy locks, a tiny line of worry appearing between his brows. “Why doesn’t he wake?” he asked softly.

Valka knelt at her son’s side again, using a placating hand on his shoulder to settle him. She rubbed small, soothing circles into his shoulder-blade. “ _The antidote does not reverse the poison – it merely stops it. Jack will stay sleeping until you seek him out in the Realm of Phoenixes.”_

Hiccup’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “ _How am I supposed to go to the land of the dead?!”_ he asked shrilly, eyes widening again with panic.

Valka hushed him again. _“All will be explained, tomorrow. For now, see to your injuries and get some rest.”_

Hiccup found himself biting his lip. A habit he chastised Jack for, but now he couldn’t care less. “ _How can I sleep, when Jack is in some kind of purgatory, waiting for me?”_

Valka shook her head. _“You are no good to the man nor beast if you are stumbling around like a walking corpse,”_ she chastised brusquely. _“Sleep. I am sure if Jack were here, he’d say the same thing.”_

It looked like it pained him to admit it, but finally Hiccup nodded his head in consent. Valka jerked her head at the audience behind them, and immediately Heather and Astrid rushed forward, poultices in hand.

Heather plucked and pinched at his tunic, until – with a scowl and a grunt – Hiccup dragged the linen shirt up and over his head, revealing every bruise and scrape he’d received whilst fleeing Mount Lavlo. Heather tsked and set to work, dabbing at his wounds with some herbal remedy. Astrid pulled at his burnt hand, and he hissed before glaring up at her. She met his glare with a cool, even stare of her own.

“ _We need to have a long talk,”_ he growled up at her.

Astrid sighed, holding her hand out for his burnt one. Begrudgingly, Hiccup offered his blistered palm, wincing as she rubbed healing salve into the puckering wound. “ _Honestly, Hiccup? I would have questioned your worthiness of Jack had you not wanted to talk.”_ Her eyes flicked to one side, distracting herself with a coil of bandages. _“I too have become fond of him these past weeks…”_

“ _And yet you poison him.”_ Hiccup hissed through his teeth. Astrid flinched as if she had been hit.

_“Not through any choice of my own,”_ she grit back, wrapping his hand with the clean bandages and tying the ends in a neat knot. She pinched the tip of his forefinger, satisfied when the blood refilled in the whitened cuticle quite easily. _“Do you really want this argument now, though?”_

Hiccup glowered at her with hardened eyes, before finally letting his shoulders sag. Astrid had never seen him look so weary in her life. And that was saying something. _“No,”_ he murmured, eyes watching listlessly as Heather began treating one of the worse welts on his stomach. _“This conversation can wait until I have the energy for it.”_

Astrid gave him a sad smile. _“Probably wise.”_

Finally, the fussing Moon Maiden seemed to be satisfied with her patch-up job, and told him to head for the sleeping quarters. Hiccup raised a brow. _“And you indeed to leave him there?”_ he asked, nodded towards Jack, delicately arranged on top of the stone altar. Heather guffawed at him.

_“Do not be stupid,”_ she scoffed. _“I will have him moved to the serene quarters. He will be comfortable there – plus better privacy.”_

Hiccup cocked his head, before asking gently “ _Would it be alright if I stayed with him?”_

Heather gave him a coy look, glancing at the Chief and his wife, who stood near the cave entrance with the rest of the Knights. Stoick narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue. _“It is not proper, really…”_

_“Oh – hush, Storekin!”_ Valka tsked, cuffing the large man upside the head. _“You expect your son to be untowards to an unconscious body? The body of his Sel’a, no less?!”_

The chief turned bright red, clashing horribly with his fiery mane. _“When you put it like that…”_ he muttered, glowering at the floor. Valka rolled her eyes.

_“We have no problem with it, Heather. If you sit fine with Hiccup staying, so do we.”_

Heather’s eyes flickered back to meet Hiccup’s earnest ones. She shrugged one shoulder, saying “ _I see no problems.”_  With that, she seemed to float back to Astrid’s side, taking her knight’s hand when she reached it. As she passed Hiccup, she gave him a wink and a small smile, which he returned in kind.

As the entourage of Mûnthan knights, nobles and temple priestess left the temple, Hiccup moved to the altar. With fastidious care, he gently pulled Jack into his arms, hooking his arm under his knees and clutching Jack’s back with the other. The Carusellen’s dead weight made him slip in Hiccup’s hold, until he leaned heavily against the Mûnthan’s shoulder. His head seemed to fit perfectly in the crook of Hiccup’s neck, and Hiccup was gratified to feel the tiny, gentle puffs of warm air against his skin, just below his ear.

As smoothly as he could, he carried his kindred through the temple until he came across the serene quarters.

It was the very same room Jack had met Valka, with the snowy, soft furs littering the floors, and teardrop crystals that fell from the ceiling like rain frozen in time. The candlelight would catch on the crystals, and shatter into fragments of colour that danced on the cavern wall, just as they had before. It was the perfect place for Jack to wake.

Hiccup grimaced at the thought, lowering his precious cargo onto one of the thicker fur pallets. Slowly and carefully, nimble fingers unclasped Jack’s hood and set it to one side. Then he removed the boy’s boots, then his own. Sighing, he settled himself onto his side, curling around Jack’s prone form much like Toothless used to curl around him as a child.

In the silence, Hiccup could make out his Sel’a’s heartbeat – soft murmur that it was. He closed his eyes, laying his head on Jack’s chest, listening to the continuous reminder that his Jack _was alive._

What a stark difference a mere 24 hours could make. This morning, Hiccup had woke up in a position much like this one – wrapped around Jack for the first time ever. He’d been content… heck, he could even stretch to say he’d been happy! Now?

Now he was clinging onto the sound of Jack’s heart like a lifeline. A promise that Jack was still within reach.

In the space of 24 hours, he’d faced down every fear the Rapturer could throw at him, only to then be pushed to wits end – literally! – by Charis’ riddle. He was scared, bruised and battered, and exhausted beyond reason – not just physically, but mentally too.

Hiccup sighed, burrowing deeper into Jack’s warmth, intent on sharing his own heat too.

For the life of him – Hiccup thought with a hitching breath – he just wished Jack was here to hold him.

 

 

[1] Mother (Mûnthan)


	15. The Fifth Task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, Swifty! I wanted this up for a friend’s birthday… I’ll send you an editable copy anyways.  
> Holy crap. I have been writing for 8 hours straight. Not including the five hours I did last night. BUT ITS OVER. THE RITES ARC IS OVER. THANK FARES.  
> Also - Happy Birthday kit-replica! Try not to get stuck in a bus door next year, hm? ;)

_Chapter XV_

****__ The Fifth Task  
  


The next three days seemed to blur in front of Hiccup’s eyes, like the bleeding of colours. They seemed to flash past in a blitz of pain and second-guessing. But – Hiccup supposed – that was supposed to be the point.

Having woken up to the sound of chirping birds and warbling terrible terrors, Hiccup had spent the best of an hour curling up around Jack and pretending the world beyond them didn’t exist. It was a childish luxury, but after his day yesterday, Hiccup had consoled himself in that he thoroughly deserved it.

The world beyond didn’t allow it for long, though. Soon, Heather had come to rouse him, holding a wooden cup of honeyed nettle tea. Hiccup had given her a wan smile, and muttered thanks, before letting himself be dragged back into reality, away from Jack again.

It was thanks to Verdis and her rite of ‘Compassion’ that Hiccup and Toothless spent the following two days camped out in the Realm of Verdis; a preserved forest that was said to still hold the lingering powers of the Green Phoenix herself. Hiccup had heard many tales of it; the forest was the home of the leafmen – tiny warriors sworn to protect the enchanted forest and its residents. There were rumours of fawns and centaurs that walked the glens, but no one had witnessed such things in years. Finally, there were the unicorns.

That – according to the rite – was Hiccup’s goal. The blood of a unicorn.

Hiccup had yelled. He had protested. He even stamped his foot. The idea of killing such a pure, innocent creature was downright abhorrent. It was sick, and cruel, and went against every single one of his morals.

At that point, Stoick had simply put a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder, saying “ _Our ancestors did not care for sentiments, lad. It is the unicorn, or Jack…_ ”

Hiccup had stiffened, with a pained look written across his face. Stoick might as well have taken his arm, pulled it behind his back, and twisted until he’d wrenched the limb clean from its socket. With a sigh, he’d nodded before setting off to get supplies, glaring at the heavens as he went, as if he could glower at the phoenixes themselves. Rite of Compassion? Hiccup’s left foot.

He’d spent the best part of those two days in the Realm of Verdis hacking through dense, wild thickets and brambles. His burns and bruises had barely healed, but each morning and night, Toothless – his lone companion in his quest – had been pretty damn adamant to slobber all over Hiccup, until he was satisfied his Knight would make some improvement.  
Hiccup appreciated the gesture, yes. Dragon saliva all over his clothes? Plastered to his cheeks? Turning the tips of his hair into gungy, sticky clumps? That, Hiccup could live without.

It had taken until noon on the second day, for Hiccup and Toothless to track down a unicorn.

It hadn’t been by any happy coincidence either. Hiccup had grimaced when he had spotted the sparkling trail of blood, slipping through the trees and undergrowth of the emerald wilderness. Toothless had cooed at him sadly, sharing a pitiful look with his rider.

“Come on, Bud,” he muttered, taking a deep breath as he pushed himself forward. “Maybe it’s just a case of putting the poor thing out of its misery.”

The unicorn was badly wounded, yes. But when Hiccup and Toothless finally found it, the injuries – much to Hiccup’s chagrin – were hardly life-threatening.  
Hiccup had sat by the wounded creature, whose leg had been gashed open at the flank and left to bleed, for most of the afternoon. He’d simply sat by and watched it pensively, his thoughts clashing inside of him, spinning in circles.

The creature was pure white, its fur seeming to glisten with starry veins of quicksilver, like Estoralia under full starlight. It heaved shuddering breaths, sometimes giving whimpering whinnies as it did. It seemed to be staring up at Hiccup imploring, its thick lashes fluttering over deep, striking blue eyes. Didn’t most horses have brown eyes? Of course, unicorns had to be infuriatingly different.

The greatest difference of all, of course, was the spiralling silver horn that protruded from its forehead – a princely crown among the equine world. The horn sparkled like its fur, but the raw power emanating from that horn was something else. Hiccup couldn’t go too close to it, regardless of how much he wanted to touch the beast, to learn and explore. There was something too reverent, too pure, too _good_ about the creature. Hiccup felt dirty in its presence; tainted and raw, defiled by dark things. Something stirred and jarred horribly in his stomach. A gnawing, hateful feeling that he’d _felt this before._

He shook the hateful thought away. He knew why it was there.

Why did the unicorn have to look so much like-

Hiccup looked away. He couldn’t do it. His father’s words rang in his ear: “ _It is the unicorn, or Jack…”_  But why did it feel like in killing one, he’d lose both? He hunched over himself at the unicorn’s side, shuddering as he fought back the self-loathing.

In these tasks, Hiccup was being forced to see every dark aspect of himself. The parts of him he’d tried desperately to push aside and hide away. But now, the wounds were ripped raw; he felt like a fourteen year old again, standing in front of a beautiful, pure, twelve year old prince - his hand still tingling from their first touch - knowing he would never be good enough to deserve such a Sel’a as Jack.

He was impure. He was a half-hearted patch up job, having been broken like a toy. His hands and heart were already filthy.

So Hiccup would be damned if he was going to smear them even more, by soaking them in unicorn blood.

 

-:-

 

 _“Hiccup?”_ Astrid gave him a worried look as he dismounted from Toothless’ back, his face set and unreadable. He didn’t answer her. Instead, he marched into the temple, his hands clenched at his sides.

Heather wasn’t in the main chamber. He found her quietly cleaning Jack as he slept, wiping a soft cloth over his brow. Jack didn’t even stir. Hiccup didn’t give pause as he swept into the room, knocking the glass beads as went. Spectrums of technicolour spun on the walls, as Hiccup stared down at Heather fathomlessly.

Her voiced wavered a little as she asked “ _Did you get it?”_

Hiccup continued to stare at her, his eyes seeming strangely bright and cat-like in the dark, candlelit room. He looked almost like Toothless, when the dragon was deciding whether or not he should let his opponent live. Astrid watched from the doorway, her hand resting on her axe. She loved Hiccup like a brother, but if he flew into some rage at Heather…

Wordlessly, Hiccup held out his hand, and dropped a small vial into Heather’s lap. Inside, the viscous, shimmering liquid sloshed a little. Heather’s lips tightened. _“You killed it.”_

 _“No.”_ Hiccup growled. Both Heather and Astrid’s head snapped up to look at his face properly. He looked furious. But not at himself. Hiccup breathed out sharply before gritting out “ _The unicorn I found was wounded. I treated its wounds, and then wrung out the bloody rag. It will have to do – I could not kill something innocent.”_

There was a long pause as his words settled in the room. Finally, Astrid took a step forward, eyebrows furrowed. _“Anyone else in your position would have,”_ she spoke lowly. _“So why not you?”_

Hiccup shot a look at her that would have made lesser men cower. _“I would not. I looked into the creature’s eyes, and…”_

Astrid gave him a dry smile, raising an eyebrow. _“Let me guess… you saw yourself?”_

Hiccup shook his head. _“No. Quite the opposite.”_ He hesitated, before his shoulders sagged and his eyes drifted to the floor almost shyly. “ _I saw Jack.”_

 _“And you are the first to pass this task because of it.”_ Heather said softly.

Hiccup’s head snapped up as he stared at the both of them, waiting for some cruel punchline. It never came.

_“You… you are serious?”_

Heather nodded. _“Any blood forcibly taken from a creature as pure as a unicorn will lose its power instantly. The darkness of the act nullifies the pureness of the power. But if what you say is true – that you obtained the blood through an act of kindness,”_ Heather beamed at him, _“the power would have only been made stronger.”_

With that, Heather got up and bustled away, taking the vial with her and calling back _“Could you finish where I left off, Hiccup? The fourth Rite is not until tomorrow!”_

Hiccup frowned after her, turning to Astrid. She smiled at him warmly, the fear in her chest easing as she watched the worry lines on her friend’s face slowly melt away, leaving only bemusement. _“What did she mean by ‘finish where she left off’?”_

Astrid quirked an eyebrow, looking at Hiccup quite pointedly, before then looking at Jack, then the wash cloth, then back to Hiccup’s face, which – to Astrid’s utter amusement – had turned an adorable shade of pink at her implications.

_“Oh.”_

-:-

When Hiccup woke the following day, it had been to an ice-bucket to the face. Sputtering, he’d glared up at Gobber, only to recoil. The man looked down upon with flinty eyes, something Hiccup had never really seen before.

 _“Up, lad,”_ he said quietly. “ _Today is your test of Strength.”_

The reception he had from the rest of his tribe was just as cold. It was highly unsettling – Astrid wouldn’t look him in the eyes, Heather was no-where to be found, and Valka wouldn’t say a sentence two words long all the way through breakfast. His father wasn’t anywhere to be seen either.

Hiccup’s first thought was that the unicorn blood hadn’t worked after all, that he had failed, and they were all scrutinising him for it. His heart missed a beat at the thought, and a familiar churning started in his stomach, curdling his insides and steadily turning them into a tangled mess. His breakfast went down in lead-like lumps. He wasn’t even sure what he was eating.

His mother had vaguely pointed him to his room, where she’d set out his now repaired armour once again. He’d tried to ask her about Jack, about the blood he’d given to Heather – begging her for some sign that everything was still in order. She wasn’t forthcoming.

He’d set about putting on his armour, his heart like a heavy clod of iron ore in his chest. He felt sluggish and uneasy, his fingers shaking slightly as he did up the clasps on his wrist-guards, adjusting the buckles over and over. It was a delay tactic – he was putting off the inevitable. But for some reason, despite the lack of looming threat – be it burning volcanos or Jack’s life – this Rite seemed to bear far more weight than the others.

It was the Fourth Rite. The Task of Strength.

It was the task set for his people by the Blue Phoenix, Fares. The insane, vengeful God of Protection, who failed his siblings when they needed him most. If anything, Fares was nothing but a failure, who killed himself in the attempt to redeem himself. So why – why in the name of Fares (Yes! Hiccup saw the irony!) – was this task so important to him?

 _Because,_ a little whispered in his mind, _you’ve spent years trying to make yourself stronger, so that the past can never repeat. If you fail, it might mean you are still not strong enough?_

Hiccup pushed away the voice with a small snarl, picking up his sword – Endeavour – as he left his room. He was stronger. He would beat this task.

  
-:-

 

Stepping into the Academy, Hiccup frowned. The entire tribe was present, it seemed. But his father was still no-where in sight. Neither was any dragons, for that matter. Hiccup had been tossing around ideas in his head as to what the task may be, and the best idea he could come up with – having had Valka tell him the task was to be held at the Academy – was that he would be pacifying some raging, dangerous dragon.

But no – of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Hiccup should have known better. After all, he’d been an accomplished Dragon Whisperer since the age of ten. Nothing in life would have been _that_ easy for him.           

Hiccup’s fingers tapped a tattoo against his sword hilt, his weight shifting from one foot to the other anxiously. Waiting… he hated it. It was easier to let time pass when he was busy doing something. But when there was nothing to fill that void of time, Hiccup couldn’t help but feel his shoulders hunch in agitation.

Finally, someone – Hiccup guessed his would-be opponent – stepped into the ring. The entire village gasped. Hiccup stared, unblinking. This had to be a joke, _please_ Fares on high let this be a joke.

Stoick was entirely decked out in his battle-gear, his war axe – a great, double-bladed thing that had a heavy, deadly swing that Hiccup had seen cleave a rock in two – swinging from his father’s side. Chainmail glinted in the sun, his dark breastplate like carved onyx. As Stoick came nearer, he shucked his heavy, fur cloak, revealing his bare, great arms the size of tree trunks. The chief wore nothing upon his head, other than his royal circlet – a band of moon silver, embellished in Mûnthic runes, with a tarnished, faded firestone set in the centre. Evidence of Stoick’s own participation in his Rites.

Hiccup swallowed hard. “ _Dad… what is going on?”_

Stoick’s eyes were like steel; none of the fiery compassion or fierce love Hiccup had known his whole life. It was like a sword to the gut, or a spell of ice wrapping around his heart. Hiccup gripped the hilt of his sword a little tighter. “ _Tell me what is happening!”_

 _“Your fourth Task, Hekairen,”_ Stoick replied tightly. _“It is a test of strength. Of conviction. There are no clever riddles, no ulterior options, no smoke screen hiding the truth of your task -  
You must fight me, prove yourself a worthy successor to my crown…” _ Stoick heaved a shuddering sigh then, the weight of his next words seeming to be too heavy a burden to carry.

_“Or die.”_

 

 

 Hiccup stared, stunned at his father’s words. He couldn’t mean… he couldn’t possibly…

 _“A fight…to the death?”_ Hiccup replied slowly.

Stoick’s face remained hard as iron. _“Draw your sword, Hekairen.”_

Hiccup shook his head once, as if he hadn’t heard properly. He couldn’t have heard properly. He stared at the dusty ground of the arena beneath his feet, feeling the eyes of the entire tribe upon him, waiting with baited breath. He couldn’t meet their eyes. No – he _refused_ to meet their eyes. This – this was inhumane! Barbaric! They couldn’t truly expect him to- to-

Hiccup raised his head, fixing his eyes on his father as he whispered “ _Why would you do this?”_

 _“Hekairen.”_ Stoick growled.

Hiccup ignored him, raising his hand and pointing a finger as he began to shake where he stood. “ _You knew. You knew that this was one of the Tasks, yet you declared the Rites to take place? You were writing your own death sentence – or mine – and you **knew it. You knew it!”**_ And with that, Hiccup drew his sword before flinging it across the arena.

It clattered against the rocky structure, skidding to a rest at the foot of the wall. Hiccup ignored it, more focused on the searing betrayal, fury, fear and nausea that seemed to be scorching him from the inside. He doubled over and clutched his stomach from the pain, but it only seemed to grow – crawling up from his belly and tightening at his throat, like an animal clawing to be let out. He had to let it out.

Stoick could only stand and watch impassively as his son began laughing hysterically, his whole body wracked with tremors as he bent double. Hiccup’s face had turned red, but there were no tears. Between the events of Mount Lavlo, nearly losing Jack, and nearly losing himself, perhaps there were no tears left.

“ _What is **wrong** with all of you?!” _ Hiccup yelled out, his hysteria turning suddenly into fury, like a leather cord stretched to its full capacity, before snapping and whipping out in backlash at a deathly, decapitating speed. _“Why would you do this?!”_

He took a deep breath, finally looking around at his tribespeople with an expression of sheer disgust written on his face. “ _You think patricide is a show of strength?!”_

_“HEKAIREN.”_

Hiccup’s head snapped back to Stoick, who was now red in the face, his heavy axe now in his hand, poised. _“This is not the choice of our people. This Task was set to you by Fares. Now stand and fight me! Take up your sword!”_

 _“Are you telling me that you killed your own father?!”_ Hiccup screamed back. “ _Did he kill his father too?!”_ He shook his head violently, a bitter, hateful smile on his lips as he snarled _“You know what I say to Fares and his task? **Shecla men. Shecla men vesa men Sacramen **[1]** – ** he is cruel and selfish, and a failure of a God. I refuse to become d’Relva Kex on a throne built upon the spilt blood of my forefathers. **Your blood,** Dad!”_

At that, Stoick’s face seemed to fall before hardening entirely. _“So be it.”_

There was barely any time to blink – despite his size, Stoick was fast, and before Hiccup knew it, he’d just avoided the downward swing of his father’s axe, his instincts as a Knight kicking in at the last second. He spun out of the way, staring at his father with new eyes. His cheek was stinging, and something warm was trickling down his neck. Dazed, he put one finger to his jawline, on the trickle’s path. His finger came away crimson.

Stoick glared at Hiccup fiercely. _“What pride you must have, son, to think it is my blood that will be spilt today.”_

This wasn’t the Stoick Hiccup had known. This was a different man. This was a man Hiccup had only heard tales of – a warrior laying siege to the walls of Arendelle, smiting the traitors of his God and patron without mercy. The blood of his foes was said to have watered the earth. To this day, the clay of that battleground – the mouth of Hermis – was said to be tainted with red.

Hiccup lowered his stance to the defensive. He tried to disassociate himself from the situation. This wasn’t his Dad he was about to fight, it was a rampaging dragon that needed to be pacified. His eyes narrowed with focus. He dug his heels a little deeper into the dirt, grounding himself. His fingers twitched at his thigh – it would take a split second to reach for his throwing dagger.

This was self-preservation, he told himself. He was not about to murder his own father.

But there wasn’t any time to linger on those thoughts – not when Stoick was already charging, axe spinning in his hand. Hiccup ignored the voice that cried out against this whole situation, screwed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and lunged for the sword.

  
-:-

  
Everything hurt.

Where even was he? He couldn’t see a thing, not even his hand in front of his face. Was his hand even in front of his face? He tried to move it, just to be sure. A small, broken gasp slipped from his lips. Fares above, that _hurt._

_“I would not try to move if I were you.”_

Heather?

 _“You were badly wounded when we got you here,”_ a dry chuckle. “ _At least no-one can say the Chief plays favourites.”_

Lips, cracked and dry as bone. He winced as he spoke. _“My…father?”_

_“Yes, you dumbass. The Chief – your father! The guy who would rather bind you to the Sea of Clouds with a curse than risk you coming to harm again! Fares, Hiccup, you are an idiot!”_

_“He is alive?”_

_“Yes. As are you, obviously.”_

Hiccup frowned, then hissed as the numerous cuts and bruises on his face pulled with the muscle. He tried to pry his eyes open, only to find he physically couldn’t open his right eye due to swelling. _“Someone please tell me what is going on,”_ he growled tightly. “ _If it was a fight to the death, one of us should be dead.”_

An exasperated sigh. _“And here I thought you were a clever guy, Hiccup.”_

Again, Hiccup frowned and tried to open his left eye. The light was blinding at first, but finally he was able to make out where he was. It was the infirmary, with Gothi’s medic worktable in the corner, covered in scattered herbs and various implements meant to chop, grind and puree the roots and leaves into something useful. It was the same room he’d brought Jack to, the night he’d rescued him from the Besikians. Heather was sat in the solitary chair at his side, whilst Astrid leant up against the wall, glaring at him. Hiccup met her glare beadily. _“I am a clever guy, and you are a stubborn ass. Now tell me what is going on.”_

Astrid rolled her eyes at him. _“The Chief was never going to let either of you die. It was a test of conviction – could you kill to make sure you were the next Relva Kex? To protect your people? Answer – No. You failed Fares’ Rite.”_

Hiccup took a couple minutes to let that soak in. He’d…failed. A sigh, and he closed his eye. _“ **Forg**.” _ He muttered, opening his eye again to stare up at the ceiling again. “ ** _Granoraforg **[2]**, _**_to be exact. Why in the name of all five phoenixes do these tasks have to be so damn convoluted?!”_

 _“Because the phoenixes are **hmshecs **[3]****?” _ Astrid replied with a shrug. Hiccup gave her a dry look. _“Not that it matters anymore,”_ she continued. _“The Chief says that the last task is a simple one.”_

Hiccup barked out a laugh. _“Oh yes – very simple! I just have to go into the Realm of the Phoenixes, find Jack, and bring him back home. I could do that in my sleep!”_ He attempted an eye-roll before fixing his one working eye on Heather. _“Hey - got any sweet lavender poultices?”_

Heather pursed her lips at him, unamused. Astrid shook her head, with her own – more successful – eye roll towards the heavens. “ _That is not all you have to do, Hiccup.”_

Hiccup was incredulous. “ _No, please, do tell Astrid! What else, exactly, am I supposed to do whilst wandering the land of the dead, looking for my half-dead Sel’a, and then trying to figure out a way back?”_

Astrid gave him a very level look. “ _You have to ask the Moon Dragon for her blessing.”_

Hiccup paused, as if making sure Astrid was actually being serious. When she made no move to retract what she had said, he snorted, shaking his head. “ _Blessing… to be Chief, right?”_ he turned away from the two women, still reeling from their words. _“To think – I never actually wanted to be Chief. If I had stayed in Caruselle- OW!”_

A hard punch to the shoulder, and he was back to glaring at Astrid again. _“What was that for?!”_

 _“For saying stupid things? For thinking in the past? Hindsight is a cruel and wonderful thing, is it not? But we are here and now, Hiccup. So keep your head here and now. We need you, the tribe needs you, and Jack needs you.”_ She gave him a hard look, before her eyes softened, and Astrid looked down on him imploringly. _“For Fares’ sake, Hiccup. We are going to war…”_

Hiccup blinked up at her, before his face seemed to crumple. Yes – he and his father were still alive. But for how long? And what’s more, the battle to pull Jack from wherever his soul had wandered to seemed almost futile – there was no way he could stop the Carusellen prince from following him into battle, Hiccup knew. Was he going through all this, just to lose all he cherished through bloodshed?

Hiccup nodded sadly, his eyes meeting Astrid’s again. _“I know, Astrid. I know.”_

-:-

  
“ _So, how exactly does this work?”_

Heather turned away from the Moon Temple altar, and gave Hiccup a small, comforting smile as she handed him a tiny flask. In it, he could see a swirling mass of liquid, partly a deep, tar-like black, the other part a familiar, sparkling silver that seemed to be rippled through the potion. Hiccup stared at it for a moment, before giving Heather a disparaging look. _“Really?”_

She shrugged. _“To be fair, Jack’s potion was a lot worse.”_

 _“I imagine it was,”_ Hiccup grumbled as he stared into his flask, _“given that it was meant to kill him.”_

Heather shook her head, eyes coming to rest on the still figure that was once again resting on the altar’s surface, face peaceful. _“Jack was never in any danger of death.”_

Hiccup’s head shot up at that, staring at her. “ _What.”_

Heather shrugged one shoulder, looking sheepish. _“I mean, yes – the potion was deadly, but the time limit we gave you was… not exactly all the time we had. There would have been ten minutes to act if your potion had failed. There would have been consequences though…”_

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow at that, eyes narrowed. _“Like what?”_

Heather looked a little uncomfortable as she replied “ _Well, the second antidote would have been administered straight to the bloodstream. It would have been violent. The affects would damage Jack’s connection to the Moon Dragon. And – in turn – to you.”_

Hiccup’s eyes widened as something inside him trembled. _“Damage?”_ he whispered.

Heather nodded grimly. _“Nothing irreparable, but your bond would never be the same.”_ She hesitated, her eyes flicking from Hiccup’s face to the stone floor beneath her feet. _“Just take your parents as an example…”_

Hiccup’s heart dropped to his stomach. _“My… my father failed that trial.”_ He didn’t need to see Heather nodding to know it was true. It made sense – there was a distance between Stoick and Valka that had always seemed odd for a kindred pair. Valka would spend weeks away from Berk Mountain, exploring the rest of the Archipelago, and Stoick would seem indifferent to it. Hiccup knew his parents loved each other deeply, but at the same time it wasn’t as easy a relationship as it should be. Like a broken vase tentatively pieced back together – still beautiful and treasured, but never ever the same as it had once been.

Hiccup’s chest clenched at the thought of being so distant to Jack. _“Thank Fares I did not,”_ he murmured softly. His eyes fell upon Jack’s sleeping form, and his heart seemed to squeeze even tighter.

Heather gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. _“I knew you would not. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses – you are not as burly or brawny as your father, but you are wise, intelligent and brave. All valuable traits as a leader and Chief.”_   

Hiccup gave her a wan smile. “ _At least someone thinks so.”_  


Heather shook her head with a sad smile of her own. “ _Fares – someday you will yourself as everyone else does,”_ she tapped the bottle in his hand pointedly _“Perhaps Jack will help.”_

Hiccup nodded absently as he turned the bottle over and over in his hands. _“So I drink this – then what?”_

Heather shrugged, _“Then it is up to you. It is your task.”_

Great. Hiccup rolled his eyes skyward again, the gesture twinging a little as his right eye was still horribly bruised. He glared at the vial critically, before practically wrenching out the stopper and upending the bottle’s entire contents down his throat. He recoiled a little at the taste – it was disgustingly bitter and sickeningly sweet at the same time. Perhaps it was the unicorn blood?

Hiccup pushed that thought away extremely quickly. He didn’t want to think about what he’d just dumped into his system. He screwed his face up in disgust, swallowing furiously to try and get the bile off his palate. _“That was unpleasant,”_ he muttered with a grimace, giving Heather a wry look. _“So now wha-”_  
  
Heather leaped forward to catch Hiccup as he swayed on his feet. It felt like vertigo, if that was even possible for someone who rode dragons near daily. He groaned as Heather half-dragged him to the serene room, his vision blurring in front of him.

 _“Now,”_ Heather said with a note of finality, _“as I said – what happens next is up to you.”_

Hiccup probably would have cussed at her, calling her infuriating and stupidly cryptic and just as bad as the damned Phoenixes. He would have, had the potion not decided that was the perfect time to kick in fully. Instead, in a slur more befitting a man who had just drank an entire barrel of mead, Hiccup warbled out _“Fares help me, I am going to need it.”_

 __  
-:-  


Everything around him was white.

Pure. Clean. Like fresh linen. Unspoilt. Unsullied. Fathomless, like the clouds that swirled around his fingertips as he and Toothless swooped through the cloudbank. The ethereal barrier between the Mûnthan tribes upon their mountain summits, and the dark depths of what lay below. It seemed like another world, beneath the creamy, wispy seas. A underworld, filled with dark paths and forest. The trogs thrived there, hidden under a blanket of cloud every day, never facing the pure sunlight, never traversing the mountains that surrounded them.

Is this how the gods felt about the rest of the world? That this – the Realm of the Phoenixes – was a haven above and beyond the reaches of a dark, mortal world? It was plausible. Hiccup could understand the reasoning.

It just made him feel even more on edge at the thought. Because he was the absolute opposite. Even as he trudged through the swirling mass of light and air, he had to stop himself from glancing backwards, to see if there really was a trail of grime smeared in his path.

His skin itched. He never felt so repulsive than he did now, walking through the halls of heaven. Everything he’d experienced, every little mistake he had made, every horror he had witnessed – _lived through –_ seemed to cling to his skin like a coat of grit.

And the white was _endless._

“Jack! Jack, are you here?” No reply. “Jack, if you can hear me, say something!”

“Hiccup?”

He spun on his heel, his head snapping to face the familiar voice, only to stop short. It was definitely Jack in front of him, but something was off. Something was wrong.

Firstly, his attire made Hiccup pause. Never had he seen clothes like it – leggings that looked like the colour of doe skin, yet they certainly weren’t breeches. His tunic was even more puzzling – long-sleeved and baggy, with a hood at the back. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Worst of all was his eyes.

Still a vibrant blue, but there was no warmth there. None of the kindness or the curiosity, or humour and compassion that Hiccup had come to know. His eyes were like ice – cold and shuttered, like an artic blizzard that wouldn’t let you see five paces ahead. Hiccup took one step back. “Jack?”

A slow smile curled over Jack’s face as he took a predatory step forward. “Oh, Hiccup. I found you…” he cooed. In a flash of light, a strange sceptre appeared in Jack’s hand. The top of the sceptre curved like the crescent moon, flashing silver sharpened into a formidable scythe. The end of the sceptre tapered into an equally deadly blade. Hiccup stumbled back a little more.

It was a trick. It wasn’t the real Jack. This had to be part of the test.

Hiccup fumbled for his sword, only to find himself completely disarmed. The Phoenix Realm had robbed him of all arms, leaving him only the linen tunic and breeches he now wore. Completely defenceless.

Panicked, he faced ‘Jack’ again to find the imposter had come even closer. Dangerous, frozen eyes flashed. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you…” he murmured softly, raising the sceptre. “One day, you’ll understand.”

It felt like slow motion, watching as Jack – this strangely dressed, cold, indifferent replica of Jack – swung the sceptre downward. Hiccup couldn’t move, frozen by the stare his ‘Sel’a’ was giving him; pure hate. Hate, wrapped in despair and anger and frustration. As the scythe hit, Hiccup could swear he saw a flash of pain behind this imposter’s eyes.

There was no pain, though.

As soon as the scythe met its target, the whole of this image – the imposter and his terrible weapon – seemed to disintegrate before Hiccup’s eyes. Hiccup gasped for air, acutely aware that he’d being holding his breath the entire time. He swallowed, his mouth dry like sandpaper, and ran one shaking hand through his hair. Cold sweat clung to his fingers.

Trying to move forward after that was near impossible. Echoes of Jack’s voice taunted and teased Hiccup everywhere he turned, but the moment he looked in that voice’s direction, there was nothing to be seen.

How long had he been here now? Time seemed to stand still here, in a lonely, blinding demimonde of whispers and pureness.  The air whistled around him, not quite warm, not quite cool. Just a kiss of existence. Hiccup couldn’t help but feel so disorientated, like if he didn’t concentrate hard enough, he too would evaporate into the existential netherworld.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been looking, but eventually he saw something beyond the curling mist; something that looked strangely like leaping flames. Brows furrowed, Hiccup quickened his pace. He wasn’t sure he should go closer to the signs of violence and destruction, but at this point it was the only sign of life around. He’d take what he could.

When he got there, the scene was not the carnage he was expecting; nothing so grand flames leaping from derelict buildings, or pools of molten lava, or even a burning bush. In some aspects, what Hiccup found was far worse.

It was simply a line of fire. A line of scorched earth, where flames danced and jumped, creating a wall of heat between him and the other side. Beyond the flames, Hiccup could see a scene of woodland; dark, looming trees and broken, twig-covered undergrowth. Given the task, Hiccup thought it would be Jack waiting for him beyond the wall of flame.

_We don’t always find what we seek._

Hiccup inhaled a sharp breath, his eyes widening. Beyond the flames stood a familiar face. A face he’d never wanted to see ever again. It was a face that haunted his memories, clawing at his insides like a furious poltergeist, a constant reminder of his past. His weakness. His uselessness.

Dark circles, like shadowy moons beneath bloodshot, tired eyes. Parchment skin, wafer thin and stretched over protruding bones, bruised in places, scarred in others. Dirty rags swamping the small, skeletal body. The shudder-inducing _clink_ of chains, rattling as the figure breathed in and out, regarding the Munthan prince beyond the fires.

The figure smiled. It was a sad, tired smile, but it was genuine.

“ _Valhael,_ Hiccup.” His fourteen year old self greeted.

 

-:-

      

  
Jack glared at the woman venomously. “Are you serious?”

 _Perfectly,_ she replied stonily.

Suffice to say, Jack’s stay in the Realm of the Phoenixes had not been a restful one.

After lying about the place fuming for a while, he’d managed to get himself lost whilst wandering around, stumbling into places he should never have gone, seeing memories he’d truly wished he could forget. He’d seen the night of Hiccup’s enchantment in full, unable to escape the scene unfolding before him. He’d wretched repeatedly throughout, dry heaving at the blood that pooled over the altar, dripping in silent streams to the temple floor. He’d heard his fourteen year old Sel’a beg for mercy. Pleading his Father to stop. Worst of all, the memory would not let Jack comfort young Hiccup when it was all over. He was merely whisked away to witness the next horror.

And the next. And the next. Wars that ripped the North and South apart at the seams. The sight of a furious, screaming bird of flaming vengeance, plunging into a heart of choking darkness. The sound of screaming pain as each Phoenix fell to the Plague, entombed in shadows that their flames may never burn again.

He had seen the walls of Arendelle fall, the attackers filled with righteous rage as the Seeker’s Guild fled for their lives. He could almost make out the faces of Val and Ralf, faces determined even as their bodies shook with fear. That wasn’t the worst revelation though.

The worst was that Arendelle’s attackers were Mûnthan. And Hiccup’s father had led the charge.

Jack’s feelings weren’t just mixed – they were pulled apart in so many directions, Jack would likely need a compass of his own to find them. As he wandered through the dust and debris of this ghostly Arendelle – the broken building and burning remnants like scars littered on the pristine snow beneath his feet – Jack could feel his heart ache. This had been Vanela’s home. Reduced to ruin. Brought upon by Storekin of Berk.

And it hurt to think it, but was this a fate shared by the kingdom of Caruselle? Would Jack return home and find his palace, his people’s citadel, his fields and forests, in the same pitiful state? Blackened and desolate, with not a soul to mourn for it except a Prince without a throne.

That was where she found him, knelt in the vision’s dirtied snow, his eyes blank and staring as the lost city of Arendelle burned around him.

_Jack?_

At first, he hadn’t moved. He didn’t even acknowledge her.

_Jack, what do you see?_

A sigh, like a rattling breath of one dying. “I see Arendelle brought to ruin. I see people that have cared and protected me, running for their lives. And I see Stoick – Hiccup’s father – wielding the bloodied blade.”

For a long time, she said nothing. Just the gentle kiss of warmth on his cheek told Jack she had not left him. Then, when she spoke, she sounded tired. So very tired.

_The sight before is a dark picture indeed, when you only know what the history books tell you. Historians of the South tell condemning tales, and the Mûnthans of the North are too proud, too stubborn to correct them._

At that, Jack finally turned to look the Moon Dragon in the eye. “Are you telling me this was justified? All this pain, and death, and suffering?” His face started to turn a blotchy red as fury built up in his chest. “Nothing justifies this! Nothing!”

She gave him a sad smile, nodding slowly. _It is not in our nature to wish hate or pain on anyone. But let me tell you the truth, Jack. Let me explain why you are here._

… Jack wasn’t sure how long he had listened to the Moon Dragon’s tale. Time was of no meaning or matter on this plane of existence. But her story… it was _impossible._ It couldn’t be true. There was no way.

And then there was the task. Just a small task. A task that – apparently – Jack now had to uphold. And no, of all things, he was not to share this task’s nature with Hiccup.

And now he sat before the Moon Dragon, in all her glittering glory, gaping at her in disbelief. He shook his head slowly. “Of all the things you just told me, I find that the most unbelievable.”

She quirked an eyebrow. _What do you find hard to believe? The task is not a difficult one. Even with the longevity of the task, it is simple enough._

“Not that!” Jack hissed. “I want to know _why._ Why give me that task in the first place? Wouldn’t the world be better if-”

 _No._ She stated, the word cutting straight through his argument like a machete. _Jack, the world you know has become accustomed to the magic it has. Having such pure forms of magic roam the Earth once again – the power vaccum it could cause would be catastrophic._ She gave him a hard, meaningful look. _It is best to let sleeping dogs lie._

Jack snorted. “We aren’t talking about dogs, Jacquelina. We are talking about something that could finally end the Black Plague.”

Her face hardened at that, and suddenly the air around them seemed to turn dark and icy cold. _Would you risk it? What would you give for that, hm? Would you give the life of your family? Your friends? What about Hiccup? What about any chance of living peacefully? If the stones awaken – even one – then I can promise you this:_

Her piercing blue eyes met his, pinning him like the sharpest arrow. Jack gulped, meeting her gaze as she spoke. _You will never know peace. You will have an eternity of torment – of love and loss and sacrifice. Is the price worth it? Do as I say, Jack. Do not let the stones wake._

Her words settled on him like heavy stones, filling his heart and weighing it down. He glowered his eyes and bit his lip furiously, before finally nodding. If this was his choice, his task, his destiny, so be it.

Hiccup would never know.

 

  
-:-

 

 

“You aren’t real.” Hiccup growled. His younger doppelgänger rolled his eyes to the heavens.

“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” he asked, adjusting the bronze manacle on his left wrist nonchalantly. Hiccup could only stare at the slave boy incredulously.

“What do you want?” he snarled, dearly wishing he had his sword at least. The doppleganger regarded him for a moment, watching as his fists tightened and loosened again. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“Why do you want to attack me?” he asked quietly. Hiccup stopped short at that. The fourteen year old shifted from one foot to the other, trying to look unfazed. But his skittish hands betrayed him, fluttering nervously at the clasps on his wrists. “I am unarmed. I don’t even know how to fight.” A nervous laugh. “I never was much use in a battle…”

Hiccup could only watch the boy as he seemed to fold in on himself, wrapped in a stifling blanket of self-depreciation and loathing. The boy scratched at his skin absently. “I was never much use at anything, to be honest.” He said with a small smile. The cheer in the teenager’s voice was false. Hearing it made Hiccup want to wince.

The doppleganger then gave Hiccup a pointed look. “You didn’t answer my question.” At Hiccup’s blank look, his younger self sighed. “Why do you want to hurt me?”

Hiccup frowned deeply. “Wouldn’t that be a bit self-destructive?”

The doppleganger laughed. “I know, right? So now I have another question.” The boy stopped his scratching and took a step forward. “Why do you hurt yourself regardless?”

Hiccup blinked down at the young boy, confused. “What?”

The slave shrugged one shoulder. “Y’know – all the anger you have for yourself. The hate. The guilt.” He tugged on the bronze collar circling his neck. “We never put this on ourselves, you know. Or these chains. This was not our fault.”

Hiccup’s eyes narrowed. “I know.”

The slave’s face scrunched up in distaste. “Really? You know? So why do we continue to wear the chains of our past, even to this day?”

Hiccup bristled at that, hands digging into the linen of his breeches, just to give himself something to hold onto. “Says the vision reminding me of exactly how pathetic I was six years ago!”

The doppleganger flinched at that, before its face crumpled sadly. “There you go again. You despise us and our past. But that is not what this is.” The figure gestured to itself.

Hiccup glowered at the doppleganger. “Then what do you mean, exactly? Explain.”

The doppleganger pointed at the flames. “That is what is blocking our path. Anger and hate and guilt – all little bricks in the wall preventing us from moving forward. What you see before you” it pointed at its own body again, “is merely a reflection of what those flames represent. No matter how old we get, you see us as this.”

Hiccup couldn’t help but quake at the creature’s words, which seemed to strike him like blows to the stomach. It was right. Again, Hiccup forced himself not to look back. His skin still itched. The doppleganger gave Hiccup an imploring look.

“Trust yourself for once, please. See us as others do – a leader, a warrior, a peace-keeper. A friend, a beloved son, a wanted Sel’a.”

Hiccup only blinked once, but the vision before him had changed. Only slightly, but it was enough to make Hiccup’s breath hitch. A baggy tunic and too-tight breeches. Bandaged wrists, and a bruised neck, but not a chain in sight. Well – one chain. But not bronze, silver. With a familiar circular pendant hanging from it, around the doppleganger’s neck.

“How long has he waited for us?” The small boy asked softly. “How long have we pined for him?”

“Stop.” Hiccup muttered, his shoulders beginning to shake. The doppleganger shook its head.

“We have to find him, and this is the path forward. Are we going to fail him again?” Hiccup shook his head angrily, but his throat was too thick to speak. So instead, his younger self spoke, gently. “All you have to do is step through. Ignore the anger and hurt. Put aside the hate. Jack doesn’t need a wounded slave.”

Hiccup nodded slowly, his eyes set before him as he straightened, looking his other self in the eye. “He needs a knight,” he responded lowly.

Before him, beyond the leaping flames between them, Hiccup could see his younger self nodding, an encouraging smile on its face. He took a deep breath, before letting his hand hover close to the flames. It hurt.

Hiccup yanked his hand back, eyes narrowing at the flaming barrier. “Don’t think about it!” the doppleganger called. “It feeds on your self-hate and doubt! This is your crucible, Hekairen – your baptism through fire. I know you can do it!”

Hiccup gave his other self a stricken look. He could barely make the boy’s face through the flames now. “How?! How do you know this won’t go horribly wrong?!”

A toothy grin, barely visible through the fire’s blaze. “Because even if you don’t believe in us, Jack does. And I do too.”

Well. That was that, then.

Hiccup knew what he had to do. He couldn’t go back, not without Jack. Forward was the only way. No self-doubt. No what-ifs. No hate or anger or fear. With one last gasp of breath, Hiccup scrunched his eyes shut and thought of Jack.

And stepped forward.

And again. And again.

He could feel something. A strange tingling over his whole body – rippling up his spine, down his arms and legs, tingling on his scalp and in the creases of his eyes and lips.  
When he stepped out of the flame, he finally opened his eyes and breathed deeply.

It was… gone. A weight felt like it had been taken from his shoulders. His skin no longer itched or burned. It felt like the flames had burnt away the layer of grime that had stuck stubbornly to his skin since he’d arrived here. He felt free, like he could breathe easy for the first time in years.

His eyes sought out the doppleganger, expecting to see the dishevelled, dirty fourteen year old he’d been speaking to before.

He nearly jumped out of his skin.

The doppleganger was beaming at him, his eyes alight and sparkling with a happiness Hiccup hadn’t known would look so vibrant on his face. And it was _his face._

The doppleganger was at least his own age now, if not older. It was dressed oddly though – that armour was not of Munthan make, regardless of how brilliantly it gleamed silver. The velvet cloak around its shoulders was reminiscent of the cloak Jack wore; dark blue with intricate, embroidered peonies. On its brow it wore a silver circlet, and from its left ear dangled a single earring, with a tiny, carved silver feather. Lastly, around its neck was that familiar compass. It was easy to spot, as the doppleganger’s cloak was pinned back with a very elaborate clasp… one Hiccup was sure he had seen before…

Then it hit him. It was a peony, with a crown encircling its base. He’d seen it worn by Jack’s father, many years ago.

It was the symbol of the Carusellen King-Consort.

The doppleganger glanced between Hiccup’s stunned face, and its own chest. He gave Hiccup a secretive smile. “Now, you can see yourself as everyone else does.”

“My father doesn’t see me wearing that.” Hiccup mumbled, dazed.

The doppleganger laughed. “True. But you don’t see yourself as chief, do you?” It quirked a brow at him. “Otherwise, I’d be wearing Berkian colours.”

Hiccup shook his head numbly. “I like the Carusellen colours better…”

The doppleganger gave him a considering look, head cocked to the side. “I can see that… but… hmm…” he frowned deeply. Hiccup felt his fingers flexing with a brand new bout of nerves as this new rendition of himself regarded him. Finally, it fixed Hiccup with a meaningful look. “Are you sure blue is your colour?”

Before Hiccup could reply, the figure seemed to fade away into nothing. Hiccup lunged forward, trying to grab at the apparition before it dissolved – he had to make it explain what it meant by that! But it was futile. The figure’s elaborate robes turned to smoke in his fingers. Hiccup growled, frustrated.

Obviously, there were no clear answers in the Realm of Phoenixes.

“Hiccup?”

Hiccup resisted the urge to groan, fling his head upwards and ask the phoenixes _why?_ – mostly because he was already in their realm, so looking upward would be pretty pointless. So instead, he turned to face the voice that sounded remarkably like Jack, expecting it to be a ruse again, or maybe another violent fake.

This Jack was stood still, dressed in his usual blue silk attire. He looked pleased to see Hiccup – and not in an ‘Oh good, you’re here. I can kill you now’ way either. He moved to Hiccup’s side, not seeming surprised when Hiccup didn’t move or respond. He hummed, smiling a little wanly. “They tricked you too, huh?” he asked, prodding his Sel’a’s shoulder.

At his touch, Hiccup could feel the warmth spread through him, like finally feeling the sun’s heat again after a long winter. He looked down at this Jack with new eyes. “That…is really you, isn’t it?”

Jack clicked his tongue, exasperated. “Well, this is good. You can’t even tell if I’m real or not. Heavens preserve us.”

Hiccup finally laughed, before grabbing Jack around the waist and hugging him tightly. “Fares, I’m so glad you are alright. Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere!”

Jack let himself burrow into Hiccup’s embrace, sighing gently. As long as he was here, in Hiccup’s arms, things would be okay. That, and Hiccup couldn’t see his eyes – eyes that Jack knew were now probably dark with secrets. Fares, how he was coming to hate the Moon Dragon. How could she ask this of him? And to keep it from Hiccup? That went against everything had ever asked Hiccup for.

How could he expect Hiccup to earn his trust, when he was keeping secrets from him?

  
-:-

 

Ancient goddess of love or no, Jack had a very strong urge to punch Jacquelina in the face. He glowered up at her, whilst Hiccup at his side looked somewhat confused. He had started to do the whole respectful ritual of bowing and announcing yourself and your intentions, but Jack had simply told him it wasn’t necessary.

Alright, perhaps he snapped rather than told. But really, after their earlier conversation, Jack wasn’t feeling one jot of respect right now.

The Moon Dragon had merely given Jack a fond look, like a grandmother amused by her petulant grandchild’s antics. But Jack did catch the warning in her eyes – a cold glare, barely noticeable for anyone else. Hiccup wouldn’t have seen it, but to Jack the message was clear; Stop sulking, you’ll give the game away.

At this point, Jack really didn’t care.

He’d barely been paying attention to the conversation between Hiccup, but then he heard his name being mentioned, and he immediately perked up. “Sorry, what?”

Jacquelina gave him a berating look _. I was just saying – Hiccup found you beyond his own realm for a good reason._

Jack rolled his eyes. “We already talked about this.”

Hiccup nodded in agreement. “Yes – I had thought the same thing; if I was meant to stay in the Archipelago, why did I find Jack in Caruselle?”

 _Simple._ The Moon Dragon responded. _You weren’t._

“Weren’t?” Hiccup asked, again puzzled.

_You were meant for greater things than the Archipelago, Hekairen. I’m sure – after your time here in the Realm of my husband and his siblings – you know this to be true._

Hiccup blinked up at her, before his cheeks seemed to flush a little. He choked slightly, coughing as he looked back up at the Moon Dragon, flustered. “Are- are you saying that vision – the one from the fire – it could become truth?”

Jack gave Hiccup a questioning look, which Hiccup ignored. Regardless, the blush in his cheeks travelled down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. Even if Hiccup refused to share, the sight of him so flustered – Jack had to admit – was adorable.

The Moon Dragon gave Hiccup a kindly, knowing smile. _Yes. It is possible. It is the path your heart seeks the most after all._

That piqued Jack’s interest even more. He gave Hiccup a beseeching look, but the Mûnthan Prince, for all his lack of composure, still refused to meet Jack’s eyes.

 _It is for that reason,_ she continued, _that I will not give you my blessing, Hiccup. Hekairen D’Relva Berk Munthos, I hereby decree you unworthy of the title Tribe Chieftain._

If the circumstances had been different, Jack might have found mild amusement in how quickly Hiccup’s face went from flush red to sheet white. But the circumstances were as they were. And Jack was not amused.

“Wait. What?” he growled, glaring at the glittering moon goddess once more. “He has been made to face fear and flame, his own inner demons, _the most ridiculous riddle known to man,_ plus weigh and question his own morales and fight his own father, for Fares sake! All for you to decree him _unworthy?!”_

By the end of his tirade, Jack knew he was screeching. But this was the last straw. She could throw her Fares damned secrets at him, force him to keep a distance between himself and Hiccup, even demand Jack’s silence when everything in him screamed otherwise.

But no-one, not even a Goddess, could tell Hiccup he was _unworthy._

Not on Jack’s watch.

The Moon Dragon watched as Jack practically leapt to Hiccup’s defence. Even Hiccup looked a little taken back by it, his eyes a little wider than usual, flicking between Jack’s set determination and her own passive expression.

With a sad smile, she sighed and shook her head. _I have asked too much of you, Jack. Forgive me._ She turned to face Hiccup again, the bitter smile on her face still there. _Hiccup, this is my gift to you; You are not worthy of a mountainside tribe in the middle of the Sea of Cloud. You are worth so much more, and a great destiny awaits a soul like yours._

Jack gave her a look that was a mix of outrage and disbelief. She laughed bitterly at his expression, and moved to stand before Jack, her hair flowing gracefully out behind her. He glared up at her, daring her to make an untoward move.

_My gift to you, Jack, is ignorance. I will lock away your memories of this place and all that occurred here. You will get them back when the time is right._

Before he or Hiccup could do anything – protest, demand answers, even make a clever remark – she had already swept her hand across Jack’s forehead, wiping clean the memories of the misty netherworld. He tried to clutch at the memories, for despite the distance it put between Hiccup and himself, that information was critical to defeating the Black Plague. It was the key.

“Why…” Jack whispered woozily. “Why tell me…then…this?”

As the world seemed to fade in an out, he could barely hear the Moon Dragon’s reply. _You were not ready. Neither of you. Now – I have answered all your questions._

The earth seemed to spin beneath his feet. Jack could feel the world tilting, or was that him. He blindly reached out, and his hand somehow found Hiccup’s – warm, long fingers with burns and callouses. He smiled, despite himself. Then, he could feel himself falling…

_It is time you both went home._

 

[1] “Fuck him. Fuck him and his Rite.” - Hiccup

[2] “Shit… Dragon shit.” – Hiccup (who is feeling extra eloquent today).

[3] “Because the phoenixes are dicks?” – Astrid. (At this point I’m just using Mûnthan as a means of swearing without actually swearing. I have a whole two pages on Mûnthan slurs – might as well use em!)


	16. Prepare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cough* I'll just leave this here...

_Chapter XVI_

**_ Prepare _ **

 

When Jack first woke up, there was only one thing he had on his mind.

_Oh Fares – why does everything HURT?!_

He groaned as he slowly rolled over, only to catch himself before he rolled straight off the altar. He gasped a little, staring at the wall he’d nearly free-fallen to. He was pretty sure his stomach had still fallen down there, and was currently flailing around trying to get back up.

His head currently felt like someone was doing a Dunbroche jig on it – most likely Merida’s father, what with the furious thumping in his eardrums and dull, nausea-inducing pain lancing between his temples.

Jack sighed and voted to pull himself up slowly this time, gingerly swinging his legs over the altar’s side. He glared at the rune covered stone and sniffed derisively. Whose bright idea was it to leave him on a stone table? No wonder he was aching!

He tried moving his head back and forth to work out the stiff, painful knots in his neck, but quickly decided against that. He was having enough fun not throwing up as it was.

He was just attempting to lower his feet to the ground when he heard footsteps on the temple floor – soft and slow, not exactly Heather’s dainty pitter-patter or Astrid’s hearty stomp. He looked up, blinking the sleepy haze from his eyes.

Leaning heavily against the wall, just outside the serene room’s entrance, Hiccup gave him a small smile. “Are you alright?”

Jack gave him a puzzled look, taking in the numerous bruises littered over his skin, the dark circles beneath his eyes – or his good eye at least, the other was already black as pitch with a nasty bruise. He was a little paler than Jack remembered too. “You’re asking me that? Have you seen yourself recently?”

Hiccup gave a small laugh at that as he moved heavily forward, favouring his left side to his right. “You have a point there. But I’m not the one that just spent five days in a coma.”

Jack blanched, his body slumping a little as he took that in. “F-five days?! But- but your trials! I was supposed to be there, to help, to-”

Hiccup shook his head, the smile on his lips turning wistful. “I think there were a few times you did help, honestly…” he gave Jack a sideways look, his brow cocking slightly. “You don’t remember?”

Jack frowned. “Remember what?”

Hiccup sighed and shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re safe, and there are other issues to solve now. Starting with saving Caruselle.” He gave Jack a wide, toothy grin, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Jack’s own eyes narrowed, suspicious. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked quietly.

Hiccup paused at that, before shrugging nonchalantly. “I think it is more the other way around, but it doesn’t matter.” At the bemused look on Jack’s face, Hiccup rolled his eyes and relented, sitting himself next to Jack on the altar. “Before we left, Granora Sel told you something important.”

Jack blinked. “We met the Moon Dragon? The _actual_ Moon Dragon?” Before Hiccup could reply, Jack vehemently asked “Did I slap her? Please tell me I slapped her. After the last six years of full moon mayhem, I think she thoroughly deserved it.”

It was Hiccup’s turn to blink down at Sel’a, before his lip quirked. He stamped his forefront teeth down on it as it began to tremble, but it was no use. With nowhere to go, his laughter bubbled up and erupted in an extremely inelegant snort. Jack turned red.

“Are you laughing at me?!”

That was it for Hiccup. With one hand clutching at his aching side, he let himself laugh out loud, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Jack gave him a petulant look that reminded him of a younger and extremely unamused Toothless. It only made him laugh harder. “Yes!” he managed to choke out. “I am laughing at you! To think – I tell you we went into the Realm of the Phoenixes and met the Moon Dragon herself, and the first thing you ask me is whether you slapped her or not?!”

“It’s a perfectly good question!” Jack retorted, puffing his cheeks out.

Hiccup wiped a stray tear from his eye, giving Jack an endearing look. “I have my work cut out with you, don’t I?”

At that, Jack raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hiccup shrugged, and grinned at him brightly. “Nothing, I suppose. Only if you’re the type to go slap-happy on a Goddess, I really ought to keep an eye on you.”

Jack gave him a withering look. “I can keep myself out of trouble without your help, thank you.”

Hiccup said nothing to that. He merely cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Jack rolled his eyes.

“I would have figured out a way to escape Dagur eventually. I’d probably have thrown wine in his face, then legged it to the nearest exit.”

“That would have been a terrible plan.”

“It could have worked,” Jack insisted, “and then I would have made my escape.”

“Just like with the trogs.”

“Just like with the- Hey! How do you know about that?!”

Hiccup smiled cockily, amused. “Do you really have to ask?”

Jack glowered at him. “When I see Astrid…”

Hiccup sighed, shaking his head exasperated. Then, without a word, he reached out and wrapped one arm around Jack’s shoulders, before letting himself sag tiredly against the younger man.

“Maybe you would be alright without my help, but… can I still be at your side?”

Jack stiffened at the words. They were so meek, muffled against his tunic, like a small child curling into his parent’s arms. He looked down at Hiccup then. The sallowness of his face seemed much more pronounced, from this angle. He seemed so fragile; tired and small. Jack felt something tug in his chest – something that wanted to whimper at the sorry sight, and hold Hiccup until he was better again. With that, he wrapped his own arm around the Mûnthan, and rested his chin upon his crown of auburn hair.

“Of course,” Jack breathed, closing his own eyes. “How else am I going to protect you?”

 

-:-

 

Despite sitting right next to a roaring fire, Jack felt chilled to the bone.   
The Chieftain’s house didn’t boast power and prestige like a king’s home should; the hut was a little more luxurious, in that it had two rooms on its upper floor, and a landing that overlooked the home’s great room. A hearth sat in the middle of the room, kept mostly clean, save the few stray wisps of ash, which had landed and blackened the edges of the rough-hewn rug that encircled the fire.

It was the first time Jack had stepped foot in Hiccup’s home. And whilst he truly wished he could savour the moment, and take in every detail Hiccup had grown up with, his attention could not be pulled from the overwhelming – and extremely intimidating – presence that was Stoick the Vast.

Even sitting down, Stoick’s own house seemed too small for him. Regardless, he was sat cross-legged on an animal pelt, busily whittling away. His wife was preoccupied with sheaths of parchment - correspondence between tribes, Hiccup told him – when Jack was pulled inside by Hiccup.

Jack hadn’t been enthralled by the idea of an audience with the Chief. Especially when he learned Stoick was the one that gave Hiccup the black eye. A part of him had been itching to punch Stoick in the eye himself as recompense. The other part was terrified of what would happen if he actually _did_ punch Stoick in the eye.

But now, it hardly mattered. Now, he was sat primly next to Hiccup with his hands in his lap, eyes fixed on the fire. He’d tried excusing himself – ‘since obviously the Chief was busy’ – only to be told not to be ridiculous and to sit down by the man himself.   
Jack swallowed down a gulp of air before cautiously allowing his Sel’a to lead them to the fireside.

And since, no-one had spoken yet.

The tension was getting to Jack, who wasn’t exactly known for sitting still too long. His eyes flicked to his right, only to bite down a smile. Apparently, Hiccup was just as bad – his fingers on his right hand were lightly tapping out a tattoo against his own thigh. His left was still preoccupied, curled around Jack’s as it was, with no apparent intention to let go.

Jack chewed his lip anxiously, before clearing his throat. “ _Erm, it is a lovely home you have here, your Majesty_.”

Both Stoick and Hiccup gave Jack odd looks. Finally, the Chief chuckled. “ ‘ _Your Majesty’, hm? I do not think anyone has called me that. Call me Stoick, or Chief. Everyone else does.”_

Jack pinked a little, scratching behind his ear awkwardly. _“Oh. Alright then.”_ He peeked to his side, to see Hiccup watching his father with hooded eyes, like he was waiting for something. There was a tenseness in his jaw. Something Jack understood perfectly.

After all, here he was, facing the sole reason Hiccup had been kept from Jack for six years. Something twisted in him uncomfortably, his stomach knotting for reasons he couldn’t fathom. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, Jack felt like he knew exactly what Hiccup had been through these last six years, with this man to blame.

There was something else, too. A citadel of towers and battlements, all aflame. Stoick was there, and Ralf and Vanela too. Something was wrong… something was… something…

For the life of him, Jack couldn’t remember. It was like putting together a jigsaw through a distorted mirror. A pain started to grow in the centre of his forehead, and the more he tried to piece what he was seeing together, the more his head hurt.

Jack wrinkled his nose, letting the thought slip away. It wasn’t worth it.

He figured he must have been quiet for a while, because when he glanced at Hiccup again, his eyebrows were furrowed slightly with worry, and the grip on his hand had tightened slightly. He raised one brow in silent question; _Are you alright?_

Jack inclined his head slightly, blinking slowly as he did. _I’m fine._

Stoick, meanwhile, looked between one boy’s face to the other’s, and felt his heart squeeze horribly. He cleared his throat, getting both their attention. “ _I, er… I wanted to apologise. To you. Jack,”_ he glanced briefly at the boy in question, whose eyebrows had suddenly got lost somewhere in his hairline.

_“Me?”_ Jack squeaked, before coughing – trying to rid himself of whatever had just made him sound like a petrified mouse.

Stoick nodded solemnly, his eyes fixed on the firelight before him. _“Aye.. I – I know I am a proud man, but I am willing to admit when I am wrong.”_

Hiccup snorted derisively. “Since when?” he muttered, earning a sharp look from his mother. He ignored her.

 Jack gave Hiccup a sideways look. He’d spoken in common on purpose. But – Jack supposed – when you had a shiner on one eye, sassing the man that gave it to you in a language he knew was probably a bad idea.

Stoick looked bemused for a moment, whilst Hiccup continued to glower at him. Jack chewed on his lip. If he tried hard enough, he could have probably cut through the tension with only a timber saw.  As it was, he only had words.

He cleared his throat. _“Chief Stoick, I do not see why you would apologise to **me,** of all people. I have not been here – or conscious when I was here – for you to do much wrong to.”_

It was veiled, but still very pointed. Jack had to pat himself on the back for that diplomacy; Mother would be so proud. He’d pretty much turned the Chief’s offer of apology on its head:

_I don’t need your apology. But Hiccup does._

He kept his eyes firmly in contact with the Chief’s, until Stoick finally sighed, resigned. _“I know I have wronged you both. I am sorry - I should never have tried to keep you apart, especially since Granora Sel is so set upon the two of you being together. I have hurt you,”_ he gave a weighted look to first Hiccup, and then Jack, who blinked at the gesture. _“Both of you.”_

Jack wasn’t sure what to say in reply to that, but luckily he didn’t need to. Hiccup had beat him to it, his voice edged with an icy coolness that even Jack was unsure he could pull off, even with his powers.

_“You have. You subjected us both to six years of Moon Mourning, yes. But you have forced us to grow up lonely and apart.”_ His voice seemed to get even lower, if possible. It made the menace in his voice seem to double. _“You encouraged any doubt I might have had about Jack. You tried to poison any faith- You even tried to marry me off!”_

Stoick flinched, but said nothing. Still Hiccup continued, _“I will not even speak of your grievances against me alone, Dad. You crossed a line that not even Alverrus crossed.”_

It was as if Hiccup had taken a whip, and struck Stoick across the face with it.

Jack clutched Hiccup’s hand, and squeezed tightly; a silent plea to stop. _He’s trying to make amends – let him!_

Hiccup turned his cold glare from Stoick, to look Jack in the eyes.

Hiccup’s eyes were incredibly green. Bright as emeralds, wild as a dragon, with amber flecks that glinted like firelight. It was such a clear colour, you could see the emotion hidden behind them as clearly as you could read a freshly inked book.

He was angry, righteously so. He was bitter – each memory a lasting scar upon him. He was hurt, and also scared of getting hurt again. So his father was apologising, so what? Why bother getting his hopes up for change, only to have them smashed down again.

Jack met those eyes with his own, filled with bright blue determination and trust. And a smaller, gentle request of his own: _You don’t have to trust your Father. Just trust me._ Hiccup seemed to falter for a second, before finally giving the tiniest nod of dissent. Jack smiled warmly, then turned back to face Stoick. _“I accept your apology, sir.”_

Stoick stared at him, disbelieving for a moment, before stuttering back “ _You- You do?”_

Jack gave him a coy smile. _“We are not all stubborn Northerners, Sir. I like to think I am quite reasonable.”_

At that, Stoick seemed completely flabbergasted. Smiling smugly, Jack turned to look back at Hiccup, who gave him a small, feeble smile. He gave his Sel’a a dramatic wink and a cheeky grin. Sure, it wasn’t the best apology in history.

But it was a start.

-:-

 

Jack collapsed on his cot, in an undignified heap, with a groan. The Mûnthans clearly had no concept of ‘rest and recuperation’ – stubborn, hardy, weather-worn people they were. Mere moments after stepping from the Chief’s homestead, Jack had found himself inundated with the bushy-bearded people of the North, clamouring for his attention. Like some dam had broken down, or a cushy protective bubble that had surrounded Jack, was gone; now Jack was open to the tribe’s scrutiny. Or – more aptly – their demands.

Looking to Hiccup for help had proved fruitless also. As Jack turned his head to find his Sel’a amongst the crowd, he saw the familiar head of auburn hair being dragged towards the smithy by a disgruntled looking Gobber.

In the rush of confusion, only one fact – compounded by every tribe member Jack spoke to – was made abundantly clear: Tomorrow night was Faresflyte.

From what Jack gathered, whilst being pulled between numerous jobs around the village, it was a Mûnthan festival, celebrating the phoenix Fares and the people who lived under his patronage; the protectors of the tribe.

Not much else was clear, which left Jack feeling extremely puzzled – especially given the numerous wry looks the tribe’s folk kept sending him.

Now, Jack was aching throughout, weary to the bone, and all too happy to have finally found his cot. Fares knows what happened to Hiccup during the day. But – if it was anything like Jack’s – maybe Hiccup too was seeking out a dark, comfy hole to curl up in. Jack had been subjected to the whims of his Sel’a’s people, in form of list of tasks.

Thankfully, not _those_ kind of tasks.

Jack had been out fetching kindling and brambles, before moving onto helping dig out whole tree stumps to burn on the colossal bonfire now situated in the tribe’s main square. A makeshift platform had been built, with two sturdy thrones covered in furs – for the Chief and Valka, respectively – atop it.

Then he’d helped drag cask after cask of mead and snow-apple cider into the square, before being pulled to one side by Gothi to prepare numerous paints made with crushed herbs, berries and clays.

When he got to the temple - dragging his tired, aching body with him – it was easy to see Heather had been busy also. Dozens of strings of blown glass cascaded like a waterfall down the cave’s face. They glittered a spatter of prisms in all directions, as the dying sun hit the shards that gently spun in the breeze.

Stepping through the now twinkling entry-way, he found the temple once again filled with candles, the scent of aromatic herbs and oils lingering in the air. He grinned brightly, making his way to the serene room, expecting Heather to be equally tired as him, possibly collapsed upon the numerous throws.

What he saw made him sober, like a bucket of cold water to the face.   


Heather sat, crossed legged, upon the throws, her eyes pinned to the ragged scrap of parchment she held in her small, pale hands. Her face looked gaunt, haunted by a ghost Jack couldn’t see. Her hands were shaking as fingertips creased the yellow sheath.

Frowning, Jack moved to sit next to her, slowly – like one would approach a spooked wild animal. Heather’s eyes flicked to meet his momentarily, before switching back to look at the parchment again.

When Jack glanced at the script, he sighed. It was Mûnthan, naturally. Mûnthic runes, to be precise. And whilst he was finally getting a grip of the language verbally, writing and reading Mûnthan was a skill as yet beyond him.

So he stayed silent. And waited.

When Heather finally spoke, it was not what he’d been expecting. _“Jack… if I told you to run, would you? No questions asked?”_

Jack squinted at her, frowning. _“Why are you asking?”_

Heather refused to look him in the eye as she replied _“It does not matter. I am asking if you trust me.”_

Jack snorted. _“Last time you asked me that, I ended up in a week-long, induced coma.”_

_“Do you trust me?”_

Jack didn’t reply at first, still watching her speculatively. Finally, begrudgingly _“Yes. I trust you. Only why would I need to run?”_

Heather bit her lip, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. The parchment crumpled in her grip, scrunched into a thick, paper mass before being thrown on the hearth. Jack blinked at the sight, before turning back to face Heather with a raised eyebrow, waiting.

She sighed. _“Because eventually danger will come. And you – Granora Sel’s chosen one – are the only hope the Greater Isles has.”_

Jack blinked up at her again, then gave her a wry smile. _“From what Hiccup tells me, Granora Sel’s choices and actions can be pretty questionable.”_

Heather gave him a stern look. _“It is not our place to question Gods.”_

Jack didn’t get chance to retort back. Instead, he watched in silence as Heather got up from her seat and marched away, shoulders stiff and heavy with a weight Jack could only speculate about. He huffed, eyes wandering back to where the parchment now smouldered, its edges singed and glowing as the embers caught it.

Glancing back in the direction Heather had retreated, and finding her long gone, he carefully pulled the scorched mass from the hearth. He smoothed the blackened parchment against his thigh, glowering when the ash smudged into his breeches, leaving great long, black smirches in its wake.

Now, lying back upon his cot, he held up the salvaged letter to the dim light. It was covered in swirling, swiggly runes that he could make neither heads nor tails of. But – to a Mûnthan – it was still legible… despite the scorched holes and pockmarks.

He tucked it away in his cloak, his mouth set in a grim line, and stood to make his way to the cleansing pools. At some point, he’d have to find Hiccup to translate.

Because Heather was scared. And if Heather was scared, they all should be.

  
-:-

  
“This is an unexpected surprise.” A very familiar, teasing voice chuckled behind him.

Jack froze. And, funnily enough, so did all the hot spring water around him. Oh Fares, _no. Not again._

It wasn’t Valka this time. But why was it that he couldn’t have a single bath in peace? He glared at the water, which had clouded again as the natural heat of the spring began to thaw out the frozen slush around him. Thank Fares for small mercies.

He turned where he stood and glared up at the intruder, only to be met with bright green eyes that positively glittered in their amusement. He’d seen the very same thing in Valka’s eyes, when she’d pulled him out of his bath for the full moon ritual.

Only there was something slightly different in these eyes. Something slightly darker. Something primal, like a hungry wolf. Or a dragon.

Hiccup stifled another snigger into his fist as he padded, barefoot, over to the pool’s side. Jack could feel the blush in his cheeks creeping down his neck and shoulders. His ears were burning too. What a sight he must be – blue and white and clashing red.

Hiccup didn’t comment as Jack firmly kept his eyes on the water, instead the Munthan prince nonchalantly sat at the pool’s rocky edge, dangling his feet into the water, breeches rolled to his knees. He smirked.

“Jack, why is the hot spring cold?”

“Becauseyoustartledme.” Jack mumbled out, his chin touching his chest as he pointedly didn’t look up.

Hiccup smiled down at his sel’a fondly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Jack harrumphed, partially annoyed with Hiccup for making him act like an awkward, bashful clod… and part annoyed with himself for actually letting him. He spun in the water, set on repeating himself with a little more force and clarity, only for the words to die in his mouth.

Hiccup simply smirked down at him, eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

Oh, that was not _fair._ Jack licked his lips, desperately trying to get some moisture back into his mouth, which suddenly felt like a desert. Hiccup – damn him – had wandered into Jack’s bathing time wearing nothing _but_ his breeches. His chest was slim and broad, chiselled in a manner that suggested long hours of swordplay. The honey colour of his skin, against the cool silver of the chain around his neck, also suggested those long hours had been spent under the hot, sun.

Then came the unbound images of Hiccup practicing. With his bare chest, dripping with perspiration. With _Jack’s compass_ swinging like a pendulum in its wearer’s momentum, all under the warm, hazy mountain sunlight. He could feel himself getting redder by the second.

Contrasting with the warm tones of his complexion were Hiccup’s exotic tattoos; a swirling spiral of deep blue, the runes only adding to the mystic, ethereal look of his Sel’a. The curve of them - how they twisted around his arms and draped over his shoulders – was familiar to Jack now. The cool blue was a comfort – no longer muddied red, like rust or dried blood. No longer symbols of pain and loss.

Jack’s eyes traced those tattoos to Hiccup’s neckline, where they disappeared into his hairline. That same, soft, shaggy auburn hair. The very hair Jack remembered, all those years ago, glinting red and gold in Carusellen sunlight. And then, finally, Jack found himself drawn back to Hiccup’s eyes.

Hiccup was no longer smirking. He smiled a simple, gentle smile, waiting patiently as Jack traced his features. A small part of him felt a familiar twinge of self-consciousness, and his hand twitched with the habitual need to cover himself. But when Jack met his gaze – _finally –_ the fear and discomfort melted away.

In those bright blue eyes, he could see no disgust. Only compassion… acceptance… and… Hiccup fought the urge to smirk again. It was really difficult. Instead, he cocked his head at Jack, looking as innocent as possible.

“Do you need some water, Jack? I can get you a goblet.”

Jack blinked at him – once, twice – then, without warning, he ducked his head under the water of the pool, the surface clouding up again as more frost appeared, swirling over the spring’s surface, before instantly beginning to thaw again.

Hiccup stared at the water, perplexed. He was half-tempted to go in after Jack, especially – to Hiccup’s growing anxiousness - when he didn’t surface after a good thirty seconds. When Jack finally broke through the surface - gasping for air - Hiccup had to grip the side of the pool so hard his knuckles turned white.

Rivulets of water chased down Jack’s front, from his sopping, snow white hair, down his cheeks and neck, running in tiny streams down his naked, milky white torso.

“I think I’m good now.” He replied breathily.

Hiccup swallowed. “Good,” he replied, wincing internally when he heard how choked he sounded.

Jack exhaled smoothly, pushing damp locks away from his face before locking eyes with Hiccup. He felt a twist in his stomach when he noticed the flush now painting Hiccup’s cheeks. It felt hot – a bubbling, squirming thing pooling low in his belly. Ignoring it, he pinned Hiccup with an admonishing glare.

“May I ask why you are interrupting my bath?”

Hiccup seemed to take a second to gather his wits again, before he replied “I-it’s customary. The night before Faresflyte, the Dragon Riders have to do this cleansing… ritual… thing.” He coughed, words officially failing him. He ducked his head. “At least it was me that walked in on you.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Why ‘at least’?”

Hiccup gave Jack a pointed look. “If it had been Snotlout walking in on my naked Sel’a – accident or not – I may have had to remove one of his limbs.”

Jack can say he stared at Hiccup blankly for at least twenty seconds, waiting for the punchline. Or at least a show of humour. When none was forthcoming, he finally murmured “I’m not sure if you’re joking or not.”

Only then did Hiccup duck his head, chuckling as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Neither am I, to be honest.”

Jack blanched. “Oh,” he said loftily. He glanced at the cave’s entrance before slowly lowering himself into the water, hiding his bare chest.

Hiccup snorted. “I’d like to clarify that this is new to me too. I’m not a violent person.” He had a far off look on his face. “But when it comes to you… I don’t know anymore.”

Jack lowered his eyes to the water, something uncomfortable twisting in his chest. Then something occurred to him, something that made him frown at the misty water below through narrowed eyes. Looking back at Hiccup, Jack gave him the most deadpan glower he could manage.

“Cleansing ceremony.”

Hiccup nodded.

“As in, you and all the other knights. Together.”

Hiccup cocked his head at Jack - confused by his tone - as he nodded again, slowly. Jack took a quick inhale, puffing his cheeks, before letting it go in one swooping exhale.

“Does that mean I get to be macho jealous too?”

Hiccup blinked at Jack a couple of times, before he gasped, realisation dawning on him. Then he laughed.

“That really isn’t necessary, Jack. Honestly.” When Jack gave him a peevish look, Hiccup bit his lip, trying to strangle another round of laughter. “I’m serious – it’s more likely Toothless will eat five barrels of eels before I even think of anyone but you like that.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “So how come it’s different when it comes to me?” Hiccup flushed, before shrugging helplessly. Jack’s eyes narrowed, and the corner of his lip tugged into a fiendish smirk. Without warning, he dipped his hand into the icy slush beneath him, and flung it directly at Hiccup.

Hiccup’s eyes widened in that split second, then he braced himself on the pool’s edge, waiting for freezing cold impact.

It was like being hit in the face with snow-wraith breath. He gasped, the air leaving his lungs in one swoop. Blinking the slurry from his eyes, Hiccup stared at his grinning, naked sel’a in disbelief.

Jack folded his arms, a smug smile spread across his face. “I’m not some feeble maiden in need of a big, brawny boyfriend. So don’t go doing silly things on a whim.”

Hiccup gaped at him for a second. Then he just shook his head, smiling. He really needed to stop underestimating the southern prince.

“It’s just as well I’m not big and brawny, huh?” he replied, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Although, you’re argument is a little null – you are a moon _maiden_ after all…” he dodged another handful of ice water, rolling away from the pool’s edge with a bright laugh of his own.

Jack just deadpan stared back at him, his expression telling Hiccup exactly how unimpressed he was with Hiccup’s comeback. “Tell your knights to come back in five minutes,” he snapped, “give a guy a little privacy in the meantime.”

Hiccup gave him a sly look. “I was enjoying the view, though.” Another fistful of water. “Alright! Alright! I’m going!” he laughed, finally turning around to leave.

Jack watched his sel’a’s retreating form, following it until he was out of sight. Then he finally let out the groan he had been holding in, letting himself fall back into the water with a gentle ‘splash’.

He closed his eyes as he felt lukewarm water fill his ears. He couldn’t quite shake the blush that seemed to have permanently imprinted itself on his face, but that probably had something to do with a certain image at his mind’s fore-front.

That image, namely, being a very stunned Hiccup, with little shards of ice and water trickling down his pebbled, amber skin, those bright green eyes trained on Jack’s face, the pupils blown out and dark as sin.

Jack bit his lip, then dunked his head under the water again. Fares knew he needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should have been the Faresflyte festival. But the chapter would have ended up over 13 000 words long. Sooo... yeah.  
> That's another way of saying it won't be four months before I update again. :)
> 
> Merry Belated Christmas! - Saps/Rose xx


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